


In His Dreaded Name

by bambimari



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Character Development, Double Life, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Human Trafficking, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Mild Gore, Modern Era, Modern Thedas, Original Character(s), POV Third Person, Professors, Slaves, Teasing, Temporary Character Death, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambimari/pseuds/bambimari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is losing himself each time he switches the mask. Who is he really? Solas, the Professor at Skyhold University or Fen'Harel--the feared usurper? He had been Solas first, yet being on this path for so long he is beginning to lose his identity. A journey given to him by Mythal; to wear the names of Elven Gods to uncover an operation of slave trading, and human trafficking controlled by the Venatori. </p><p>And Leela Lavellan somehow found herself in the center of all this mess. </p><p>Modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wolf in Professor's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Victoria calls a meeting a week before the beginning of Fall Semester. Professor Solas expects it to be the same as always. Instead, it turns into heated words with him, and a new professor, Ms. Lavellan. He needs to exchange words with the Dean. 
> 
> Unfortunately, he must take care of other matters first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third person POV for Solas, next chapter will be for Lavellan. This is my first submission ever so if I do something not right, then help is appreciated. :)

Collaboration of green tinted leaves mingled with the starting of orange colored stems. The weather was beginning to turn – singing with a cooler breeze to signal the changing of the season. Fall was perhaps his favorite of them. Winter was harsh, bringing only thick sheets of ice, allowing nothing to grow. Spring was fickle, it did not know whether the sun would shine or the rain would pour. Summer, simply put—was just too hot for his liking.

The campus was bare, only the sight of a few fallen leaves drifting in the current of the wind. It was a week before the start of Fall Semester. As usual, before the beginning of any new quarter, Dean Victoria has called a mandatory meeting to discuss the upcoming events.

He adjusted the strap of his bronto leather satchel—a voice called out from behind him, “After all my suggestions, you still insist on carrying around that tattered, old thing?”

Solas sighed, shaking his head. A few more minutes of peace would have been pleasant, “Good morning, Dorian.” 

Dorian settled in stride beside him, a cheery smile across his lips, “Ah-Yes! Quite a lovely morning, isn’t it? Do anything of note on during the summer break?”

“Nothing you would enjoy hearing” It was harsh, but not a lie.

Dorian couldn’t help but play along, “You paint me a simpleton, Solas? Could I also not enjoy the bland, boring activities you engage in? I suppose not. I guess I will just have to enjoy my holidays in Orlais, indulging in exquisite food and drink.” 

Dorian turned to dig through his bag. After some search, he pulled out a clear container, containing a personal cake. It was tied with a deep blue ribbon, a golden label across the side reading _G_ _âteau du Lion_. Dorian handed it to Solas with a cheeky smirk, “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you. I know just _how_ much you missed me.”

Solas paused before taking the cake, “…Cream and Red Velvet?”

With an agitated sigh, Dorian nodded, “You really _do_ think me a simpleton—yes, Cream and Red Velvet, as continually requested.”

Solas quickly placed the cake into his satchel, a slight smirk on his face, “Much appreciated, Dorian.”

 

* * *

 

A small, swarm of people swiftly piled into the auditorium. Echoes of conversation lingered as Professors greeted one another.

“Chuckles! Just the elf I wanted to see.” Varric intercepted him before he could find a seat, away from all the interaction.

“Ah, Varric, it is good to see you, my friend. Get yourself into much trouble while we were away?” Solas didn’t get along with many people. He found them uninteresting or just simply ignorant. He was grateful for Varric, as playful as he was; he held wisdom that was difficult to find in most other people.

Varric let out a hearty laugh, “It wouldn’t be a vacation if I didn’t. Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor—more like an I.O.U.”

“Of course, Varric. How may I help?”

“I need your history knowledge to help shape my next book. I don’t want to muck it up. So, I say over a few rounds of drinks and a couple pages of notes. That should do the trick. What say you? You in?” Varric looked at him expectantly for an answer.

Solas chuckled and nodded his head, “Sounds like a delightful evening.”

“I knew I could count on you, Chuckles.” Varric gave him a nod before taking his leave. 

Solas located an available seat, away from all the buzzing chatter between colleagues. After settling in, he carefully shuffled a soft-cover book from his sack with the title _Thedas Discovery: Third Blight Vol. 2_. Numerous neon tabs stuck out from the worn pages. Splitting it open, he continued where he previously left off—reading quietly under his breath.

 “…Hunter Fell, 3:18 Towers, over-run with the blight virus. During the time, it is estimated 2 million died from the effects of the disease. With the progress of the Third Blight, officials from Orlais, Tevinter, Free Marches, and Nevarra, assembled for the beginning of the official government program Grey Warden Conscript (GWC)—later shortened to Grey Wardens (GW). Establishing their…”

Mid-sentence, he was startled by the sound of a woman cursing softly to herself, “ _Fenedhis…”_ Pulling his head from the pages, sitting directly in front of him, he saw a woman—an elf, holding onto an empty thermos.  She threw her head back in an exasperated sigh, wiping away the liquid spilled onto her coat—quietly condemning her clumsy fingers. So enticed in his reading, he did not realize anyone sat near him. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded past her shoulders; hiding her face from him. Solas had been a professor at Skyhold for an extended amount of time. Few professors have come and gone. The majority had made permanent resident there. A new face was rare, but an elf was even scarcer. This new arrival had definitely poked at his curiosity.

“Handkerchief?” the woman felt his hand reach next to her shoulder. With a ‘thank you’ she wiped the damp from her coat.

“I have not seen you before, have I?” Solas watched as she dabbed at the material.

“No, sorry, I am new here. This is my first day” With a quick scan, she looked herself over. Content, she turned to Solas, tucking strands of her hair behind her ear left ear, “Thank you for the handkerchief, it was kind of you.”

Her hand extended out to him to return the cloth, but he was frozen in his seat.

_Dalish?_

He slowly took back what is his, never leaving eye of her marks. Dalish, here? They were not known for their education; a cult more than a clan, worshipping those which they have no understanding of. During his studies, he traveled around Thedas, and had the unfortunate time of meeting plenty of clans. All of which were close-minded—refusing to hear different from what they were taught by their Keepers; children playing a game of telephone.

So…how did this Dalish come to be here?

Solas had not realized how long he was staring at her face, until she cleared her throat. He could tell she was irritated, held a hint of resentment. Perhaps from the past times people only looked to her tattoos.

“You are Dalish” his statement did not go over well with her, her brows starting to furrow “I am only stating—I have never seen a Dalish become a professor. It is quiet exceptional to see, especially at such a prestigious university.”

Her expression softened, she paused before replying, “Yes—Dalish do not put knowledge amongst their priorities. It is all about preserving culture, foolish if they don’t take time to learn more about it.”

Solas was slightly taken aback, “I agree.”

The elf shook her head in embarrassment, forcing a small laugh, “I am sorry, I made an ass of myself—my name is Leela Lavellan.”

Solas took her hand in his for a shake, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

Leela gave him a quizzical look, “…Pride? That is quiet an interesting name.” He released her hand, giving out a chuckle, “As is the name Play, but you do not seem me questioning it.” He had her on that one.

“So, Professor Solas, by your _Thedas Discovery: Third Blight_ —I can assume you teach history. Or are you reading for pleasure?” Her body was now shifted to face him, leaning against the head rest. Her chin rested again the fingerless gloves of her hands.

He gave her a sideways smirk, “Keen eye—yes, I am a history professor” his posture straightened in confidence, “The more knowledgeable of my colleagues.”

A glint of challenge glossed over her eyes, cocking her eyebrow at his sudden influx of arrogance, “Well, looks like I am going to have to give you a run for your money.”

Tilting his head at her statement, his eyes sharpened, “You will be teaching history as well?” Earlier, he had scanned the room, recognizing each face. There were four others, besides him, in the history department. All courses were occupied by the four in the current curriculum. Before Leela could answer, the hard click of heels silenced everyone in the room—forcing them to take their seats.

Her slender legs glided gracefully across the stage. Dean Victoria was statuesque. Carved from the finest marble, she stood tall and elegant; chocolate skin glowing under the lights. The loose, white, button-up blouse contrasted against her flesh; tucked into deep, black dress pants. To tie the outfit together was a matching blazer with ivory lapel. Keeping the jacket from opening, a short golden chain hung on the front; secured by blue topaz embedded buttons. It was such a pity her attitude could not match her bewitching cover.

Leela had turned from him, focusing her attention on Vivienne; irritated his question could not be answered before the Dean’s entrance.

Vivienne raised her hands over her head, allowing for a grandstanding greeting, “Welcome, my darlings, to the Fall Semester at Skyhold University.” Brining her hands together, everyone followed suit, and applauded.

As her hands fell to the podium, everyone had silenced, “To start off with our meeting, I would like to lead off with the Alma Mater—Iron Bull, darling…”

Iron Bull was snickering with Cullen before he realized he was being called on, “Iron Bull, I do not appreciate having to repeat myself. If you please, lead us in our Alma Mater.” Solas stifled a laugh, using his fingers as cover to hide his smile. He refused make eye contact with Varric, knowing he would lose all composure. The Qunari moved so quickly from his seat, that the supporting back of his chair had cracked, “Sorry ma’am, of course.”

He cleared his throat, “ _Where Skyhold dwells on mountain tops—”_

“My dear, louder, show pride in our institute.”

Iron Bull stammered, “Y-yes, ma’am.” Seeing a beastly man such as he cower at the presence of this woman, it was quite comical.

He began once more, pulling his voice from his diaphragm:

 

_Where Skyhold dwells on mountain tops,_

_Our voices ring loud ‘n true._

_We hold our own, our knowledge one,_

_With those who fight through._

_We charge with our horns up,_

_Our eye to the sky._

_We Dragons won’t give up,_

_Not ‘til we die._

_Where Skyhold keeps our spirits free_

_To learn, love, and grow._

_Inside these breezy castle walls,_

_That’s where I call home._

 

With a nod of approval from Vivienne, Iron Bull took his seat—adjusting as the spring of his chair hyper-extended backwards. A giggle was heard diagonal from him. Iron Bull darted a stern look towards the direction, meeting eyes with the Biology instructor, Professor Minaeve. Quickly, she shifted from his dangerous gaze, coughing nervously. Cullen let out a chortle, which earned him a hardy blow from Iron Bull’s elbow.

Vivienne ignored the display and continued, “It is my pleasure to welcome back the familiar faces, and an honor to introduce our new arrival” With a gesture, she motioned for Leela to join her, “Please, come my darling, so that we may introduce you.”

Like Halla stuck in headlights, she had been paralyzed as everyone had applauded her introduction. Spotlight was never good for a Dalish lady.

Rising, she made her way to the steps, thankful to the Gods that her caramel skin covered any redness across her cheeks.

Taking in a complete breath, she stood next to the Dean; fixing her back to compare with Vivienne’s posture, “This is Leela Lavellan, a new addition to our history department. Please, my dear, tell them about you.”

Vivienne relinquished the microphone; it squealed as Leela adjusted it to her level, “Good morning, my name is Leela Levallan. I graduated with my doctorates at Kirkwall University—“

A howl erupted from the center crowd, by a dwarf. She couldn’t help but giggle “Yeah, he knows. Go Mabaris!”

The audience gave her a soft chuckle, “…It is a pleasure to be welcomed into Skyhold. I hope to be a great addition to what looks like an already great staff” she turned her attention to Vivienne, “I would also like to thank Dean Victoria, for giving me this chance to teach the new course of Elven history. I feel—“

“You can’t be serious.” Silence crept through, only sounds heard were muffled coughs, and shifting seats. Leela felt her heart pound in her ears, wondering if she heard correctly, “Excuse me?”

She did not know where the comment came from, not until he spoke again, “Dean Victoria, you cannot be serious. You would wish a Dalish woman to teach the histories of Elven people?”

She was thrown off; the man she had a pleasant conversation with is now bashing her because of her heritage? The warmth in her cheeks rose, as did her rage, “Is there something wrong with me teaching, because I am Dalish?” Her words were tipped with venom.

Solas responded to match her intensity, “It is clear to all that the Dalish are the _last_ to know about their own heritage. Dean Victoria, if you wish the students with a proper education, you would perhaps find a more suitable replacement for Professor Levallan.”

The staff watched them throw words tied with daggers, each head turning to the either as each one spoke. Even Varric had pulled out munchies, watching as the dilemma unfolds.

“…I’m not just my heritage!...” “…Your knowledge is tainted from your Keepers…” “…worked hard for my education, how dare—“

Leela jumped from the screech of the microphone, Vivienne was once again at the podium, “If you two are quite finished, I will continue on with my meeting. Please, return to your seat.”

No amount of tan could hide the flushed, rage burning under her skin. Refusing to look at Solas, she made the journey back to her chair. Falling into the seat with a _huff_ , she did not turn back for the remainder of the meeting.

Solas tried his best to concentrate on the remainder of what was said, but was having trouble focusing after the revelation that Vivienne had overshadowed him for the position of Elven History. He had fought for that course to be added to the curriculum, only to be placed into the hands of someone else. They did not see eye-to-eye. She considered his views to be foolish, and he knew she did this to spite him.

So yes, he was enraged. Yet, thinking on it, his anger might have been…misplaced. Glancing at the elf in front, he noticed she was still breathing quickly. He did believe that the Dalish were ignorant in their bizarre world, but she was different. She broke from the chains, and furthered her education, unlike her kin. And, he just insulted her. Insulted is a light word—embarrassed, harassed, or humiliated might be better chosen. He thought back to the words of his guardian, “Your emotions can guide you, or end you; whichever you choose.”

After itinerary had been passed for the semester, Vivienne had dismissed those to enjoy the array of food displayed on folded tables. Solas had to apologize, if she would even forgive him. She erected from her spot, hastily gathering her belongings, “Leela, I want to say I’m—“

“ _Banal nadas.”_ Temper darkened her emerald eyes, her brows creased in a deep line. She stalked off before he could say anymore.

Solas let go of a vexed breath, pinning his fingers on the bridge of his nose. He too gathered his things to leave; he had other matters to attend to. Making his way to exit, he was blocked off by the engineer, “Oh-hoa-hoa, where you rushing off too when there’s still plenty of meat on the table.”

Solas didn’t know how a man could allow himself to look so disheveled in a professional setting; his beard was long, and hair tied in a pony tail, “If you would excuse me, Blackwall, I need to speak with Dean Victoria.”

He lowered his plate, “Yeah, of course. She didn’t do right by you. Asks anyone here, and they would agree. Still, you should have been nicer to the elven lass; unfair to put her in the middle.”

“I intend to make amends.” Solas was growing impatient.

“Good.” Blackwall shifted so Solas could pass. Whispers and sideways glances were made by the others as he took his leave. Down the corridor, he ran through his mind what exactly he was going to say to her, or what he was going to wring her neck with. Heated in his thoughts, he barely noticed the vibration in his front pocket. Pulling his phone out, he confirmed he received a text:

_We’ve got a problem._

-          _X_

He cursed under his breath.  Useless, they were all useless. Grumbling, he treaded back the way he came—paused—then turned back. He waited for his feet to take him to her office, but they did not. With defeat, he replied to the message, making this way to his battered vehicle. He must remind himself where his true priorities lie; the discussion with Vivienne will have to be put on hold.

 

* * *

 

Rhythmic dripping echoed across the dank walls.  The sounds of life above them, bustling about as they moved unaware of the presence below; reverberate leaking pipes mimicked the vibrations of trains passing through. Quiet again, the only sound being of dripping and ragged breathing. Bloodied and battered, a man sat tied to a metal chair bolted to the floor. He was not alone. Surrounding him, he could only see the masks of the men; their black attire blending in with the dark of the cell. He spoke to them, voice raspy from screaming for help, “Please, I gave them back to you. Come on, guys, let me go.”

He received no response. Salty tears washed away the blood and grime, leaving streaks on his cheeks. Looking to each person, he saw the different faces they wore, all various types of animal. They were frightening. Not once had they moved since he had awoken up in this dungeon. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He felt he was losing him mind; he had returned the slaves and kept up with his end of the bargain, what more do they want?

One man moved, and the prisoner relieved himself; warm piss filling his trousers. The Owl made his way to the metal door, leaving him behind with the Halla and the Fox. He noticed that the Owl was different than the others. Each mask covered their faces, but left an opening for their mouths—possibly to avoid problems with speaking. Yet, the Owl was covered fully, making him all the more terrifying; he didn’t seem mortal at all.

The Owl made his way through the hall, the only light given by a few bulbs above him. As he reached a wooden door, he opened it. Inside was vastly different from the exterior. It was an elegant room with a desk, like one you would see in an office building. An elf leaned against the workspace, eyeing the papers scattered across the surface. The Owl closed the door behind him.

He waited.

In a fitted suit, he retired the jacket upon the chair. He wore dark attire like the others; his vest a shimmering, black silk.

“I am disappointed in you Xili, I would have hoped you had this covered without my need.” His voice was deep, yet smooth. The Owl gave no response, only bearing his head in humility.

Straightening, he turned to his pupil. He bore a wolf mask upon his face, with four blood red eyes painted into it; his stormy blues glaring through the other two red trimmed holes.

“Let us meet our guest, shall we?” He carried a reel of cloth with him, Xili following behind him.

The metal door whined from rust layered on the hinges. As he entered, the man had let out a maddening howl, “Please! Please! Oh, Maker, Please! I did nothing wrong. You must believe me. G-g-go—talk to Mythal, this is all just a misunderstanding. No need to bring in the Dread Wolf in all this. She was attacked on our way back; I had nothing to do with it!” Snot trickled from his nose as he let out an ugly sob, saliva stretched across his lips.

The Dread Wolf paid him no mind. Instead, he unfastened his sleeves, rolling them up his forearms. The man continued to blubber on about how this is a mistake. Solas begin to unravel the roll of cloth around his knuckles; slowly pacing the floor. Another entered again as the Halla brought in a tray of instruments. A new man, a Nightingale, followed behind him with a bucket of orange embers. The prisoner put the puzzle together.

“You think me a fool, Markus?” the Dread Wolf asked the man calmly.

“No! N-n-n-no, I—Of course not.” He watched as the Wolf placed a fire iron into the burning pot.

“Then why do you speak to me like I am a fool?” The metal was giving off a dim glow, it needed more time.

“I don’t know what you mean. I…” Markus felt a fist land across his cheek, chips of molar play against his tongue.

“I will ask again—why do you speak to me like I am a fool?” The iron was now vibrant. Markus tried for another explanation, but nothing came up. This was it, he reached the end.

Resolve in features, his eyes deepened with intensity; he spat at the Dread Wolf’s feet. The others stood still, yet turned their heads to see what will become of this man. Solas looked to his shoes before giving a mouthed laugh, “Interesting. Now, what have you gained to allow such courageous behavior?”  

Scraping the poker against the metal pot created a shrill sound; Solas pulled it from the fire. Markus continued to spat, “Mythal’s reign is over. The Elder One will rise triumphant in her ashes! Do you hear me Fen’Harel, you will be finished!”

The Dread Wolf paused before continuing, breathing to a beat to keep his demeanor straight, “I would like to know more of this ‘Elder One’” Fen’Harel hovered over him like a predator striking down upon his prey.

Through the hallways, distant screams of unbearable agony seeped through; followed by the smell of seared flesh.

 

* * *

 

Swirls of red escaped through the drain. Solas had already removed the mask, placing it atop the coat rack. He wrung his hands of blood, careful to remove the dried bits from his nails. Drying his hand with the white towel, he rinsed his hand once more. It was never enough to rid the blood from his grasp. Splashing his face with water, he grabbed a fresh towel to dab his face.

Peaking at the mirror above the sink, a distorted figured stared back at him from the cracked glass. He shattered that mirror long ago, leaving scars from shrapnel against his knuckles. In the corner, where an image was more discernible and free of cracks, Solas looked too the younger elf on the bench. There was a book in his hand, and the face of an owl by his side, “Go back to the mansion, Xili. Mythal will want to know what happened.”

Looking to him from his book, he placed a marker in the pages before closing it on his lap. With a few hand gestures, Solas nodded, “Yes, I should retire home as well.”

Xili was a mute. Pink scars splattered across his lips, caused by the talons of an owl. His family lived in a cabin, isolated from the town. Making his way back from the market, a group of Venatori supremacists caught hold of him. They bound him tight to prevent budging, held a contraption to his tongue to prevent it from falling back into his mouth—then dressed it as a mouse. Owls swooped down, grasping at his flesh through the night, until finally one had succeeded in taking it. In the morning, he was found by a group of fishermen. It was said that another hour and he would have been dead. Driving to the nearest hospital, they patched him up as best they could, but he would never speak again. Down the hall, he overhead a nurse speaking with an officer of the Templar Force; the Venatori rifled through his wallet, found his home, and butchered his family like livestock.

He disappeared, leaving behind his hospital gown.

Mythal took him under his wing, as she did so many other elves cast aside to rot.

Solas needed to hold onto that story; to remember that this blood on his hands is for them.

Besides, he is also one of Mythal’s children.

 

* * *

 

Keys scraped against the surface of a ceramic bowl. Removing his scarf, he placed it on the hooks in the hallway near the door; his coat placed on a hanger in the adjacent closet. Rubbing the strain from his neck, he shuffled passed the couch—making his way to a bedroom door. Raising the back of his hand against the wood, he knocked; a grimace across his face from the bruising on his hands, “Are you home?”

Receiving no response, he opened the door. He hoped that she was decent if she was in there. Inside the chaotic room, her bed was placed on the floor. It was a mess. The room was filled with meaningless junk to appease her habit of hoarding. Gazing on the bed, he was annoyed but not surprised that it was empty. Closing the door with a hard thud, he pulled him phone from his pocket and began to dial. The ring continued until he reached her voicemail, “Ay, you know who this is—“

Ending the call, he tossed his phone on the leather couch. He needed a drink.

Removing a glass from the cupboard, he added ice while pouring a generous amount of scotch. Taking a quick swig, he instantly began to feel the magic work within his muscles.

It was good, but not enough, he needed to unwind; It was a strenuous day. He settled in his bench, placing a coaster under his glass. His fingers tickled with anticipation as they hovered over the black and ivory keys. With a deep breath, he released his hands to freedom.

A minor scale to warm-up his fingers. Not long after, the tips of his hands played with the piano in a soulful dance. Tapping his foot to the beat, he swayed with the rhythmic strum of the jazz he created. His right hand continued to glide while he took sips of his scotch.  His stoic demeanor melted away with each note; the warmth of the alcohol making his throat loose.

He stepped into a familiar song, growing more exuberant as he pressed the keys. His lips parted, and he began to sing:

_I, I am so in love with you._

_Whatever you want to do,_

_It’s alright with me…_

_‘Cause you…make me feel so brand new..._

_And I… want to spend my life with you._

His head bobbed with the melody. He was an exceptional singer, he felt himself being swept away from all his troubles and responsibilities. All the fighting, the lying, the secrets; it was all trying. Yet, when he played and sung, it was far from him. In those moments, he was free.

His glass had been long empty, left only with melted ice. Looking to the clock, it read _3:04 A.M._ He had been up longer than anticipated. Removing himself from the piano, he washed his glass and stored it. Retreating to his bedroom, he tossed his sweater and pants into the hamper; settling in between the sheets with only his briefs. Mentally going through tomorrow’s schedule, he noted that he would need to ready his syllabus for next week. His eyes started to droop, and he allowed himself to fall into a deep slumber.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because who doesn't love a musician? Song by Al Green - Let's Stay Together. I see Solas being into Jazz, is that just me? Trying to convert a magical world into a modern one, I wanted the Blight to be like the plague, with less darkspawn and more shuffling dying people. Not a very good first meeting between Solas and Lavellan. 
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/bambimari/the-skyhold-alma-mater-1 SoundCloud for the Skyhold Alma Mater.


	2. One Short Day in Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day before her start as Professor Lavellan. It was to be a quick trip for supplies, but instead turned into a morning of meeting a few interesting people.

Whistling breeze caressed the edges of the wood to her apartment. The leaves of the trees danced with the coursing current; swirling in a cyclone of unpredictable movement. The temperature dropped gradually in the last week, giving Leela a reason to pull her slippers from her winter drawer.

She sat in the chair of her tightly spaced breakfast nook, skimming over the morning paper. The locks of her swarthy hair were unkempt as she sat in her loose sweats and t-shirt—wrapping her fingers around her morning tea, taking in the warmth of the porcelain. Bringing the cup to her lips, she blew away the rising vapor before taking a sip. Feeling the warmth travel her throat, she hugged her robe tighter to enjoy the comfort.

There was something specifically she was looking for—articles she has been keeping tabs on for the past several years. Increased numbers of elves, of all origins, had gone missing. Templar authorities are trying to pinpoint, what they believe, is an undercover slave ring. They have had no success. All they deliver are statements from politicians and leaders. Leela would be surprised if they were actually trying at all.

Years of studying Elven history had slowly crushed all she believed in as a child. Everything she was taught—everything she thought she knew, it was all jumbled misinformation. Instinctively, her hand caressed the tip of her cheek—tracing the sprouting pattern dedicated to her God, Mythal. It was supposed to represent her undoubting devotion to the Gods; instead she learned it was nothing but a brand of ownership.

Leela thought back to that day in her studies. She at the time was the only Dalish girl; eagerly studying the past to help progress her clan in their preservation. Ancient leaders were prophets, using the name of a chosen God to escalate their titles in the hierarchy. Leela was eager to learn of her ancestors’ devotion by the display of art across their skin. Instead, she had come to learn of the dark world of death, and slavery. Her professor was a cruel man. Without warning, he would teach her the truth under the gaze of hundreds of peers. There she sat, a Dalish girl, bearing the markings of a slave. After the revelation, the man turned to her with a look of smug satisfaction. In a wave, each student had also turned their heads to stare her down. Her face had flushed; she couldn’t stop the warm tears trickling from her eyes before she could make her exit. The remainder of the night, she buried her head into her pillow, soaking the fabric in her broken sobs. It was all a lie, and now they all knew it.

The white tattoos were fading slightly, due to her lack of upkeep. Every third year of your initial mark, there would be a ceremonial touch-up to the fading ink. It has been years since she traveled back home. All there was left now was a letter every few years. She still fantasized about the day she would be welcome back with open arms—Keeper Deshanna holding a celebration in her return. She knew the truth though. No longer was she an elf, instead she would be considered a ‘flat-ear’ blasphemer if she were to tell them the truth. Yet, Leela avoided removing the marks, just in case.

“Hm, that’s interesting” She placed her tea down and folded the paper to a certain section; placing her finger on the words to avoid losing her place, “Tevinter man found in the muck of Fallow Mire bearing obvious signs of torture; lacerations and third degree burns. Coroner reports the cause of death ‘[is] cardiac arrest’. Local politicians turn reporters to the Magister Board of the Imperium to comment on the incident. First Magister Amladaris had this to say, “[It’s] not the first time this is happened. With the rising number of [Tevinter] people being found, we [Magister Board of the Imperium] have decided to intervene…”

There was no comment whether the man had a tattoo across his chest or not. Leela sighed, knowing the media shared only what they wished to turn minds to an ignorant conclusion. It could very well be a Tevinter man stuck in an unfortunate situation, or someone out there is starting to take care of the Venatori Supremacists. She hoped for the latter.

Tucking the paper to the side, she rose from her chair to fill another cup of tea. Tomorrow was her big day; she wouldn’t deny the twisting in her abdomen from nervousness. Later she would go through her syllabus, and itinerary for what may actually be the hundredth time. Everything had to be perfect. Sadly, a large majority of her worry was because of a certain elf.

Just thinking about him raised her blood pressure.

He was an _ass_.

Never had she been more insulted in her life, and that is from years of judgment against her. She _will_ be great, even if it is just to rub it in his smug face.

Leela let out a disgusted groan. She won’t let the thought of him ruin the remainder of her day. There were still some supplies she needed to grab before tomorrow. After finishing her eggs and toast, she showered and prepared for her outing.

 

* * *

 

Leela had acquired a dinky apartment in the town of Haven; a thirty minutes drive from Skyhold. A plethora of various types of people live there, but it was mostly occupied by students. She decided to ditch her car, and take a stroll; absorbing the entirety of the town. Passing a few stores like Harriet’s Auto Body, and Adan’s Pharmaceuticals—she paused for a pleasant smell. A pungent aroma of spice tickled her nose causing her belly to rumble. Looking for the origin, she found herself in front of an Antivan restaurant. She wafts in the waves that hit her upon entering. It was a take-out restaurant. This was perfect since she had a still busy schedule to keep. Taking her place in line, she looked up to the menu.

“You’re kiddin’ right? That’s shyte! Aye, it’s only one gold piece, don’t be stingy.” A girl ahead of her in line was arguing with the cashier.

“Look, Sera, I don’t make the rules. Go get an extra gold piece or you don’t get any food.” The cashier had a thick Antivan accent. She had known her by name, either because she was a frequent patron or they were friends. They probably were not friends.

“Put it on the tab.”

“We don’t have tabs.”

“I know right? Silly, really—more places should be like taverns. Why aren’t more places like that?”

Leela pulled a gold coin from her purse, tapping Sera on the shoulder, “Here, have a gold piece. It’s on the house.”

Sera hurriedly grabbed the coin from her fingers, slamming it on the counter, “Ha! Give me my chicken.”

The Antivan rolled her eyes and groaned. It seemed this was not the first time the cashier has had this exact predicament. Placing her order, she printed out a receipt and handed it to her, “Order 347.”

The blonde turned to Leela and gave her a smirk, “Hey thanks for the coin, yea—very ‘elfy’ of you.” Before she could inquire what that meant, the girl walked over to the pick-up area. Moving on, Leela placed her order as well then waited like the others. Sitting patiently, she noticed Sera eyeing her. Without any motion for her to join at the table she was sitting at, Sera took it upon herself to do so anyway, “You dress smart, why’s that?”

Leela snorted, not entirely knowing what she meant by that, “Is that actually a thing?” 

Sera looked at her with an expression of ‘duh’ on her face, “You can’t see it? You friggin’ scream ‘librarian’, but it’s all good. I mean—it suits you, if that’s what you’re into.”

Leela took a quick look at her own outfit. A floral blouse with salmon colored flowers, matching with her similar hued knee length pencil skirt, and lightly tanned cardigan. She was never one to purposely stand-out; her face did enough of that for her. In fact, she would say she dresses in a way to blend in as best as possible. Apparently she was doing it wrong, if she caught the attention of this erratic girl.

In an instant, Leela was feeling defensive, “Do you usually insult people who do nice things for you?”

Her giggle would almost be considered malicious, but all consideration would be lost after listening to her snort while she laughed, “You got it all wrong, see—it’s actually a compliment. Look over here at this twit” she pointed at another patron across the room, listening to music on his expensive headphones, “He thinks he’s the shyte because he spends his parent’s gold on his looks, yea? Put money on it, the peacock is struttin’ just to use the internet here. He’s so _boooring,_ he needs to all that piss to make him interesting. You, yea? You don’t need that; that makes you glow.”

With hesitation, Leela considered what she just said, “Wait, I…glow?”

Rolling her eyes, she gave out an irritated breath, “Well, yeah, haven’t you been listening to what I’m saying? You _glow_.”

She was a stranger. Her attire would make any wealthy person clutch their belongings, and she knew it. She wore jeans that were sliced, and tattered all the way up the pant legs. In black marker, illegible writing was on nearly every inch of the material. Leela couldn’t help notice the outline of her breast under her crimson, wrinkled t-shirt. The tips of her ears blushed as she realized that Sera did not wear a bra. She sharply diverted her gaze, looking to the loosely hanging, mustard-yellow plaid shirt; an unusual combination of colors, she thought. All to top it off was her blonde hair, hacked by a pair of dull scissors.

Leela slowly started to smile after a realization, “You know, strangely, that is probably the best compliment I have ever been given.”

Happy with herself, Sera gave a goofy smile, “I know people, I just tell ‘em how it is. Don’t let it go to your head though, or I’ll have to start standing in the corner calling you a peacock.”

“Order 347!”

“It’s about time, I’m starving.” Sera went to grab her order. Before leaving the counter, she grabbed the pen next to the cashier, “Sera, stop stealing our pens!”

“Get the knickers out yer ass, I’ll give it back” grabbing a napkin from the condiment bar, Sera scribbled something before giving it to Leela, “This is my number, I like you, you aren’t boring. If you want to have some fun around Haven, give me a ring. What’s your name anyways?”

She placed the napkin in her purse, “Name’s Leela, and from over-hearing, I am guessing your Sera.”

“That’d be me.” Sera placed two forks in her bag before tying it in a knot, “See you round.”

Leela watched as she exited with food in hand, and a pen in her back pocket. She waved someone over before disappearing from her sight. With a small laugh, she realized it was the first time in a long time that someone didn’t mention to her about being Dalish. It was relieving. Grabbing her food, she left with lifted spirit.

 

* * *

 

Checking her watch, she was quite surprised. Everything on her check-list had been crossed off by mid-noon. One extra look over to her inventory, she confirmed that she was correct. With time to spare, she scanned the strip of shops around her. She really should make her way back home to prepare for tomorrow, but something in her felt spry; this should be a day to enjoy. Strolling along, she passed a few more stores before one had caught her eye.

No, it must be the light playing tricks. She hasn’t seen one of those in so long.

Checking for traffic, she swiftly crossed when clear. Searching through the window, she could feel herself beaming in excitement at the contents inside. Entering, she couldn’t contain the wide smile spreading across her lips.

Wall to wall were shelves filled with records, and disks of music.

There were many things she was sheltered from growing up with the Dalish people; anything that was not considered from the Elven Culture of Old, was useless. All electronics, media, different food—and especially music, were forbidden. Any melodies allowed for indulgence were pre-approved by the Keeper. Only hymns were ever accepted.  As beautiful as it sounds to others, chanting will lose its charm after years of repetition. Her first night at university, her roommate pulled out a radio and popped in a cassette. At first, it was abrasive. It sounded equal to distorted noise. After taking time listening, she started to differentiate aspects of the song. The beat of drums was the heart, and soul, guiding the others. Accompanied by bass and melody of guitar; all combined harmonized with the lyrical raspy voice of the singer. Something strange rose in her body, her foot tapping the floor; muscles twitching to its rhythmic beat. Energy surged within her as she couldn’t help but feel, as if, she alone could take on the world.

Whatever money she had left in her pocket, she bought the cheapest vinyl player she could find. It was the start for her obsession with music. Soon after, she acquired a student job within the school. All her money went towards buying records. In her spare time, she would surround herself in music. First, she started with those similar to the one her roommate played for her the first time. After, she began to explore the world outside the initial genre. Eventually, her collection had become impressive. Genres throughout the ages, starting from decades back to current Top 40—all were at her finger tips. She almost felt cheated, not being able to experience this earlier while in her clan. A part of her wanted to catch up with all she had missed.

Her heart dropped when she came back to her dorm to find her things rifled and destroyed. Her collection, it was ruined. A majority was stolen, but others were shattered, leaving piles of broken vinyl. Immediately, she checked her locked closet to see if her record player suffered any of this damage. It was intact, and untouched. She spent the night clearing the graffiti from her wall.

 ‘Go back Dalish’.

That day she became more reserved; speaking to less people, and building emotional defenses while around others. She started her collection again, but not with as much enthusiasm as the first time. Everything was now stored, and locked away from prying eyes.

Since the years have passed, she had regained her massive collection—even with the shift of preference moved to cassettes, and eventually CD’S. She enjoyed buying CD’s, and even found them efficient. Yet, there was something special about the vinyl she held to dearly. Unfortunately, she was not able to hands on all previous vinyl from before. After a while, she slowly dwindled down on her search as studies became more difficult and time consuming. It wasn’t long after that she completely stopped looking.

Her fingers flipped through the covers quickly. It had been so long.

Peering through the stacks of titles, she was convinced that from an outside perspective—this woman of twenty-nine probably looked like a child surrounded by nothing but tantalizing sweets.

The speakers blasted out, giving Leela something to jive to while she happily filed through. There were not that many others in the store. A few college students lingered while giggle, mentioning something about ‘being old’. It wasn’t long before they left. Good. Now she can linger in peace. As the song finished, it faded out making way for another.

She dropped her bags. Yes, yes, yes, _yes._ Oh creators, that was it! Forgetting everything of hers on the floor, she swiftly shuffled as quickly as she could to the counter without looking too awkward. Behind the cashiers booth was a younger man, possibly a college student. In front of him was a journal. Inside, he scribbled something, shook his head, and aggressively crossed it out, “No, no, that can’t do.”

Leela slammed against the table, just hard enough to catch the boy by surprise, “Oh! Sorry. Help—I can help you” he shook his head again, “No, not right. I mean—can I help you?” His hair was a platinum blonde. She would have suspected he dyed it if his skin wasn’t so pale. Straight locks fell past his eyes, and she wondered how he was able to see through all of it. That wasn’t as odd compared to his hat. It was a leather trapper hat, the flaps untied and the fur covering his earlobes. It was breezy today, but not cold enough to warrant that type of attire. Even then, the shop felt warmer than the outside.

“I like it.” Leela was pulled from her thoughts as the kid spoke, “I’m sorry, what?”

“The hat, I like it. I know it’s not cold, but my head always feels cold. I don’t like earaches.” He responded to her thoughts like he was reading her mind. She felt embarrassed that she was that easily readable, and that it was rude of her to stare, “I have nothing against the hat. It suits you.”

When she approached, his head was bearing down. With her comment, he lifted it slightly, a grin across his face, “I think so, yes.” He was shy, she could tell. There was something endearing about him. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning at his demeanor.

“You needed help.” Leela had forgotten why she approached him, and in the instant she remembered, her body language shifted wildly. She couldn’t keep herself from looking like a mad woman; she needed to know.

“Oh! Yes—this song, do you have the vinyl for it?! Please say you do.” She gazed at him intently, hanging on his word.

“I’ll find it. I should check the computer.” Next to him, he typed in, searching for its availability. She was crossing her fingers. He stopped, and looked at her with a frown.

“I couldn’t help. We don’t have it.” She could tell he did not like being the bearer of bad news. 

She smiled to reassure him, “It’s alright, I didn’t expect it to be found. It was produced when vinyls were slowly dying out, not many of them were made in the first place. I appreciate you trying though…” she read his name tag, “…Cole.”

Cole seemed to light up, “If we ever get one ordered, I could hide it and hold on it for you.”

A sweet giggle escaped her lips, “If you did that, I would definitely be in your debt.” Cole shook his head, his hands up in defense, “No, no, no, I just like when people are happy. You wouldn’t need to do that.” This kid was dear, even if he was a bit odd.

Their conversation was interrupted by a hearty voice from the back of the store, “Hey, Kid. Did you finish that page yet?” From behind the curtain covering the employee opening, appeared a dwarf. Leela recognized him immediately, and a rise of anxiety swam in her stomach.

“Oh, hey, look at that! If it isn’t Kirkwall University; browsing in my store. I’ll be damned, how’s it going?” Varric crossed behind Cole and rose on a step stool. Leaning on the glass, he swiped the journal Cole was writing in.

“So you’re a professor, _and_ a store manager?” She wondered how he could find the time between the both.

Varric gave her a wink, “Actually, I own the store, along with a string of others. My family is involved with the Dwarves Merchant Guild. I’m also a writer. Heard of Hard in Hightown?” With slow realization, Leela’s eyes grew wider in amazement, “No…you’re…” she felt herself squeal, “You’re Varric Tethras?!” In an instant, she cleared her throat, humiliated that she made a fool of herself. She really liked the books.

“Ha, don’t worry about. It happens all the time. So, Lavellan was it?”

Thinking about the incident a week ago, she crossed her arms to help control the discomforting feeling on the thought, “Uh…yeah, Leela Lavellan. That’s me.”

Sensing her plight, Varric responded, “Sorry about Chuckles. We’re not all bad people. Neither is he, but back-stabbing can make someone a bit cranky, if not furious. It should have all been channeled to our lovely Iron Lady Dean, but you caught the friendly fire. Not an excuse for his behavior, just another perspective.”

It took Leela a second to recognize whom he was referring too as Chuckles. When she caught on, her retort was a little heated, “No, it is definitely not excused.”

Seriously, what kind of nickname was Chuckles. The Beyond would catch fire before she could see him taking pleasure in anything. Not with a stick so far up his arse you can see the tip when he speaks with his stupid face, and dumb voice.

 _Agh!_ Thinking of him caused a rage under her skin. With a breath, she calmed the fire. She needed to leave, last thing she wanted to do is start an argument with one of her favorite fiction authors, “Thank you for the perspective, Varric, but I have to get going. I still have a lot to prepare for tomorrow.”

Knowing when a person just needed to make an exit, he wished her adieu before opening the journal in his hands. As she picked her bags from the floor and left, she heard Varric speak to Cole, “Yeah, not bad, Kid. Watch for the run on sentences though…”

 

* * *

 

The warmth from the water soothed her aching feet. She had walked more than she originally thought. The vapor rose to her nostrils, a home-made mixture of tea tree oil essence and rose, causing goose bumps across her skin. She tried as best as she could to rest comfortably on her kitchen chair. Her muscles were tight and straining with each movement. It had been a while since she meditated.

The water was turning cold under her toes. Rising, she dumped the liquid into the sink then dried her bucket before placing it back in the bathroom. Switching the kitchen light off, she looked across her apartment. The moon was bright tonight; casting shadows of leaves through her living room window.

Tonight would be more ideal than any other to stretch her raw body. With the days to come, she will not know how busy her schedule will be. She shouldn’t miss the opportunity.

Moving her coffee table to the wall, she sat in the center of her plush rug. Getting down, cross legged, she aligns her spine before closing her eye lids.

Deep breath. _1…2…3…_

Exhale.

Another. _1...2…3…_

Exhale

Opening her eyes, she twisted her face into a bothered frown. Something was missing. Reaching for the remote next to her couch, she pushed the power button.

After some switches, she selected a burned mixed CD in her stereo. Turning the volume down, she tossed the remote aside and started again, the soft crescendo of plucked acoustic strings entering her mind.

Deep breath. _1…2…3…_

_You saw my pain, washed out in the rain…_

Exhale.

_Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins…_

Again.  _1…2…3…_

_But you saw no faults, no cracks in my heart…_

Exhale.

_And you knelt beside, my hope torn apart_

_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view,_

_And we’ll live a long life._

_So give me hope in the darkness, that I will see the light_

_Cause, oh, they gave me such a fright_

_But I will hold, as long as you like,_

_Just promise me we’ll be alright…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song she is meditating to is Mumford and Sons - Ghost That We Knew. Music has such an influence in modern world and myself that I wanted it incorporated in my story. :D I can definitely see Sera listening to the Ramones and some Pixies. 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, I would love some input.
> 
> Plus, a SoundCloud link was added to the bottom notes of the first chapter for the Skyhold Alma Mater.


	3. Welcome Students, to Fall Semester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the first day back. How will Solas apologize to Lavellan? The arrival of two stranger's puts Solas on his guard.

_Shaking—his hands were shaking. Terror wedging itself in his thoughts, but he could not allow it; too much to lose from scattered focus. Unable to differentiate the trembling in his body due to the frozen winter air, or the shattering resolve of his conscious, he pressed on while ice numbed the tips of his toes. He could hear them— **feel** them as they approached even closer. _

_Run. You need to run faster._

_Galloping through the silhouettes of the fallen braches, the smell of pine piercing his nose—the demons were almost there. They’re sleeping in their beds, unaware of the predator approaching with intent to tear their flesh for a twisted communal purpose._

_Screams pierce through the static noise of humming crickets; terror stricken howling sharply striking the dead in the air._

_Too  late—far too late; Rushing as quickly as muscles could twitch, gliding through the spread of yard. Back entrance roughly penetrated, rushed by a mob of a dozen. Their screaming, oh Gods their screaming; the twisted sound of shrieking straining through their throats—the expression in the noise held realization of finality._

_Too late. Too late. Too late._

_Within the coupling, the baritone voice is silenced first. Alto whispers and whimpers follow in garbled pleads and bargains._

_You failed._

_A final shrill released past her lips before the light seeped from her soul; vivid crimson cooled with contact from the winter’s cold—she is lost. Animals—disgusting, reviled demons celebrating their acts accomplished; they believe the house to be purged of the ‘unfit’. They take no notice to the slinking figure hiding in the shadow. Waves of electric nausea rippled in sparks through the layers of his skin, his mind disconnected from his own body. Dull thumping beat against the canals of his ears. His vision spiraled.  Will any remaining willpower, he pressed to contain the exclamation of melancholy forcing itself against the quivering brim of his mouth; shoulders quietly quake as glistened eyes locked onto the pool of life that once flowed through the body of the woman he called ‘Mother’._

_Seething with rage and utter loss, his feet felt the need to charge. He could catch them unaware—manage to slit as many throats as he could before the numbers consume him. Perhaps he could lock all exits while he burned them alive with himself inside. He cannot. **She** still has a chance. _

_On queue to his deranged thoughts, a coo fluttered softly through the quiet stillness. He tensed. Had they heard, or did the group already egress from his home? The pause of their pattered footsteps had given him his answer. With hastened steps to her room, he heard the uprising roars of maddened men returning to entrap those left within. He felt them quicken behind him. Her soft murmurs rose to whining wails of confusion. He heard himself whisper a soothing reassurance, but could not remember what he had said. Bundling the cloth around her frail body, he prayed for her chosen silence in the moments to come. Shards of splinters fell from the cracks of wood as they attempted to burst through the bolted door. He urgently made an escape._

_Hollers of enraged humans entered the room to only find an empty bassinette, and an open window._

_Cones of light speckled through the shadows of twigs, and bark. They did not know this terrain like he did. Sailing against the brisk breeze of air, he attempted to glide smoothly in hopes she would calm her cries. The cyclones of light were dimming away, as were the voices fading with it. He ran. The last sign of zealots had been a half-hour passed, but he felt he hadn’t run far enough. He will never feel like he had run enough._

_Defeated, his knees crashed to the forest floor as he allowed himself to wail deep from within his gut. The weeping overtook him as he hugged the small frame to his center. Tears rushed past his now blurry eyes as sobs raged through him wholly, causing him to violently tremble. She was all he had left. His howling gradually subsided. He choked on a whimper, causing him to cough; the walls of his hoarse larynx throbbing in pain. A sudden realization dawned on him. The infant girl had not made a peep through his break down. Opening the bundle of now dirty cloth, the beat of his heart stumbled out of cadence._

_She was missing. Searching the ground, he reassured himself of the tight grip on her. She couldn’t have fallen from his arms._

_Panic rising in his chest, the pounding of his heart thudded against the cage as adrenaline surged. Shuffling back, he determined to retrace his steps no matter the cost; he would search his whole life—_

_She giggled. Rushing towards her tiny voice, he felt himself smile from overwhelming relief._

_The curves of his grin retracted. Her small chortle was accompanied by a feral, thundering growl. He stood his guard. He spotted the outline of erect hackles against ebony fur, belonging to a towering wolf that stood onside the infant; the grim stare of hexad, cardinal eyes glared onto him with a challenged look. The beast gave him unsettling familiarity. Ignoring the strain against his throat, he inquired an answer from it, “What is my gift?”_

_A pause lay between the two, his mind begging for vindication._

_A reflective row of beaming canines presented itself as the beast stretched its jowls; a demonic growl weaved within the fabric of its voice as it spoke, “Death.”_

The unsavory noise of the buzzer from his alarm pulled him forcefully from his nightmare. He quickly perked his head from the pillow; scanning his surroundings to verify the delusion. Regaining his sanity from the dreaming world, he confirmed that is was indeed a mirage. Catching his breath, the center of his forehead rested softly against the point of his knee. The dreams were getting worse. He sat for a while, ignoring the trumpeting of his phone.

It was similar every night. He saw them as he always did. Every night he relives that sickening evening. Why does his conscious allow himself to recollect on his suffering? With a deep intake of breath, he attempted to level the trembling in his hands. Beads collected on top the pores of his skin, glistening against the contours of his body. The temperature had dropped, but anxiety induced sleep always caused him to wake with fever. Eventually, the blaring alarm ended. Rubbing his eyes, he tore the sand from the corners before sliding his feet to the side of the bed.

What was he doing?

He asked himself that more frequently as of late. Accounts of Venatori activity were growing, nearly tripling in numbers. Does he have the right to play teacher while there were still more out there, in the darkness looking for light? Mythal constantly reminded him that he would be no use dead. He had made a name for himself. A usurper slipping past the enemies—branded with the name of a feared God. He was mortal, accomplished in tricking his opposition to believe that false.

He _was_ Fen’Harel.

So it was reasonable to understand that the grandeur of his reputation had made him a consistent target. It was decided nearly two decades ago that he would need to hide in plain sight. In the beginning, it was only a mask to cover his real purpose. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

It was the first day back from summer break. Going through the motions, he readied himself for the starting day. Stepping from the shower, it took all his might to pull himself from the heat of running water streaming down his form. He wished he could bury himself in the warmth and remain for eternity. Solas was not a morning person.

He gazed at himself in the clear streak within the layer of mist covering the mirror. Why was he really questioning this façade? Dropping his towel to the tiled floor, he applied moisturizer to his fair skin. Perhaps he felt guilty? Of course there were others out there—mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children—so many more elves still awaiting deliverance while he walked the university halls. This was not what bothered him. What bothered him was that he _enjoyed_ teaching, beyond a passion able to be described. To help shape young minds of the future filled him with reverberated excitement—so much that every ounce of him wished, prayed that he could remove the mask.

He was disgusted with his own selfishness.

This job, this life—this man he is, was shaped for his protection and nothing more. That thought tore at him more than he would ever care to admit.  

His clothes were laid out against the wooden bench placed alongside his bed; grateful that his past self gathered all his things the night before. This gave him extra time to sit at the kitchen counter, and indulge in his morning eggs, hash, and juice.

Leaving his bedroom, his sight looked to the door across the way, noticing that it was slightly ajar. She must be home then. Quietly setting his effects on the plush carpet, he peeked through the slit in the door. Her body was sprawled out, tangled in covers. With a soft hand, he pulled it shut until he heard a click. He didn’t wish to wake her, she was worse to wake than he.

Nibbling at the meal in front of him, he only possessed a faint appetite. Something was unsettled in his mind. Unsure, he shook it off and contributed it to his nightmare. Each slumber had always been the same, yet yester night’s terror ended differently. The wolf had spoken finally. It was foolish to think the wolf was anything more than a creature created by his sub conscious. It was there to assist in helping him sort out his memories through REM sleep. He had it with him for so long; it had become a part of him. It finally answered his question, but the answer was not what he had hoped. Death is a curse, not a gift. It was all he had left to give, apparently. That was not an uplifting thought. Slinking in his seat, he covered the remainder of his breakfast plate in plastic wrap before sticking it in the fridge. As usual, she will finish what he doesn’t. If Solas could open her up, he wouldn’t be surprised if she contained two stomachs. Looking to his titanium wrist watch, he piled all his belongings together, and headed for the door.

  

* * *

 

 

Solas pulled at the ends of his wool scarf, inching it tighter around his cold throat. The hood of his emerald cotton, trench coat protected the sensitive tips of his ears from the breeze. It seemed the previous day’s weather was no longer willing to stay, instead replaced with the harsh winds of upcoming winter. Entering the campus grounds, it was now blooming with life. Scanning the court yard, he watched the interactions between the students. Assembled close to the map on a poster board were, what he assumed, to be the First Years. To his observations, new surroundings caused primal caution not only in animals, but in people as well.

While passing a huddle of chattering girls, his keen ears overheard their whispers.

“Oh, oh—Catlin, that’s him. That’s your Blight History professor” the one with wavy, auburn hair pulled the sleeve of her companion, “Seriously, good luck. His class is difficult.”

He assumed her counter looked to his direction, “Whoa, Natalia, priorities—you didn’t mention anything about him being attractive.”  The girls giggled.

 _Hah_. Solas shook his head. He hid the devilish grin spreading against his lips. In his distraction, he did not see the upcoming obstacle.

 _Ummph—_ reflexively he placed up his guard, knocking away at the hands filled with documents. Paper’s scattered from her grip. He quickly reached for several before they could be blown away—forever lost to the wind. He heard her curse in panic from her swirling parchment. The last page nearly slipped from his fingertips, but he successfully held on to the edge of its corner. Sorting the wrinkled pages, he placed them all in a pile.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Solas raised his eyes to face the woman who he collided with.

_Fenedhis…_

Looking to Lavellan, he felt himself tense. “Geez—next time, instead of being occupied with whatever is going on in that ignorant brain of yours; you should watch where you are going.” Lavellan ripped the stack of papers from his hands, “And give me my stuff.”

Through the passing week, Solas took time in planning his apology for her; this was not part of the plan, “Professor, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last week, it was—“

With the point of her finger, she cut him off, “Look, you—“, Lavellan felt herself become flustered; horror passed through her when she realized she was losing her words, “you don’t get to be sorry…you—egghead!”

Solas was stunned. Lavellan stomped away, leaving him with a blank expression; the tips of her ears turning blush.

 _Egghead?!_  What in the Beyond was that!

A skill she prized was her ability of using words to cut down any opposing argument. During college, she was lead in Kirkwall’s Debate Circle, assisting the team in claiming the championship. That was perhaps one of the happier moments in her life, allowing her to make a tight knit group she considered friends. This was before they all had left to other Universities because of the danger in the Kirkwall Riots.

So, she had to ask herself that question again; what in the Beyond was that?

Never had she felt more stumbled. She started off well, and then her brain went to mush. Shaking off the aggravated feeling, she looked back to see that Solas still stood there. Well, at least he was dumbfounded. That should account for something.

* * *

 

 

He could feel this semester was going to be a challenge. Were they now allowing any stale mind to join the University? He stared down the sea of students with vacant expressions. This is an advanced course in Blight History, how could he even begin to teach if they had little to no knowledge on Deep Roads history? He would need to start from scratch, and would also have a word with Professor Gertek on his ability to teach his own _dwarva_ history.

His time was up.

Well, a disappointing day so far.

Solas watched his students shuffle out, he noticed the auburn haired girl from earlier, stand outside waiting for someone. He did not have a chance to look at the other student in the courtyard, but now he knew her to have less intelligence than a stuttering behemoth.

“How was it?”

“I can’t do it, Natalia. I'm pretty sure he wants to smite me each time I ask a question. Hopefully Professor Lavellan’s class is easier.”

His ears perked at her name.

“Oh! I heard she has a good class. You have her right now?” The other girl nodded before they walked off.

Solas sat in his chair, and pondered. His room was empty and would be for the next couple hours until his last class.

 _'Solas, this is a terrible idea'_ , He mused to himself. Curiosity was always getting him into trouble. Locking his room door, he made his way down the hall.

 

* * *

 

The classroom had been unavailable for nearly a year, due to some damage in the ceiling. Vivienne ordered contractors from Orlais to refurbish. After re-opening, she had given it to Lavellan for her Elven History course. Solas walked through the sea of students attempting to find a seat. Many pushed for the front or center while he lingered in the very back. Some looked to him in confusion. Previous students that failed his class, he noticed, turned from him almost in fear. He let a chuckle slip his lips. They were terrified of him as a teacher; imagine if they _really_ knew who he was.

He settled in a chair near the aisle in the back. Adjusting, he sat comfortably, watching Lavellan write on the board.

“Hello, my name is Professor Lavellan. Yes, I am Dalish; so let it out now. No I do not live in the woods…currently. Will I bring in any feral animals to class? You laugh, but that was a legitimate question made by a student earlier on.”

She worked the class well. The playful manner in which she interacted with them had her students’ unified attention. No reason not to give her points for her introduction.

“I am passing out the syllabus to the people in the front, people in front: please take one and pass it back—so on and so forth” the rustling of papers echoed in the acoustics of the large room, “If you have looked online, you will see that under the ‘Textbook Requirement’ section was _Ancient Elvhen for Modern Elves: Vol. 1_. I expect you all to have that with you today, raise your hand if you do not have a copy of the require material.” Only a handful of students raised their arms.

“Well, to those, good luck catching up” they hesitantly dropped their hands before making themselves smaller, “I expect you to come in prepared. If you do not, then be prepared to fail. Such is life. Now, please look to your syllabus—“

Interesting—she was playful, but held an air of dominance and control. Solas felt himself involuntarily leaning forward on the desk, watching her with intent. They covered the syllabus within the first half hour, going over the grading system for work, projects, and test. She refused to give extra credit. Harsh, he thought, even _he_ gave that. She must have her reasons. Strangely, he was curious as to what they were. She still had not been aware of his presence, hiding in the back corner.

“Please pull out your reading material, turn to page 7” she turned to the board, white chalk dusted her hands. She started to write, “Who knows anything about the Ancient Elvhen people?”

“They were elegant; creating tall structures of beauty in Elvhenan, the place of the people. Arlathan stood erect as its capital: a city flourished with merchants, and gold. Their leaders were prophets of the Creators, holding the common people as slaves.” Solas couldn’t help himself from answering the question.

Professor Lavellan looked for the face to which the answer was produced. When she caught his gaze, her eyes swiftly widened before turning her brow into a scowl. She seethed through gritted teeth, “Professor _Solas_...a reason you’re here?”

She would not accept his apology, and he believes she will turn from him each time he attempt to approach her. He will just have to make her want to approach him. It wasn’t entirely logical, but he was mischievous, and had his ways.

“I’m sorry, am I not on the waiting list? I wish to join your class.” A playful smile placed itself on his face; a fluttering laugh from the students.

A flush of red emerged from her cheeks before sternly shouting, “No! There’s no more room. And—and I don’t like you. So…you—you are not welcome in my class.”

Lavellan began to sweat. _There it was again._  The possession to produce intelligent words was slipping. Curse that elf into the Abyss. Her control was beginning to crumble.

Solas noticed the falter in her demeanor. He was starting to get to her. Good. He pressed on, “No need for hostilities Professor, allow me to audit your course. It is of interest to me.”

Lavellan held her tense posture, staring daggers into him. She finally threw her hands up in defeat, “Fine! Just…be—just shut up for the rest.” Solas nodded before leaning back on the support of his chair.

The remainder of her teaching did not go as well as she hoped. She forgot names, dates, and places that should be as fluent to her as language was. The previous courses had went smoothly; the students were listening, engaged, asked questions, and looked positively interested in what she had to say. Now, everyone couldn’t stop themselves from shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

The two hours that passed seemed like years in length. This was her hell. She swore she had dreams like this; except she would rather be sleeping. At least then she could wake, and laugh at her minds fictitious imagination.

She dismissed her class as the clock stroked past her final hour. It was her final class of the day, and it ended badly. She looked to the back corner of the desks. Solas had left.

Irritation rose in the pit of her stomach as she gathered her belongings. That self-centered, narcissistic, ass! _Oh—now she has her words._ Where the hell were they when she needed them? She trumped through the halls, reading the titles on the windows of classroom doors. Catching his name, she stared at him through the window. He sat at his desk, spectacles on his face as he graded papers.

Lavellan slammed through the door, swinging it wide open.

Solas did not flinch, nor did he look up from his work. Instead, he grinned, “Professor, I would suggest _against_ damaging school property.”

The fury in her words turned to a shout, “What in the Beyond did I ever do to you, huh? Seriously, what was that?” Her hands rested on the center of his table as she leaned forward; glowering inches from his face.

Removing his glasses, he placed them next to the papers, “I wanted to apologize for my outburst in our first meeting. My words should have been with Dean Victoria. There was no need for my fury towards you.”

Looking up to her, he saw her mouth hanging agape. She was stunned, still holding that angry look in her eyes, “Are you positively mad?”

Solas couldn’t tell if that was rhetorical.

“You decide…to apologize to me...by invading my class and humiliate me?! Again?” She removed herself from his desk, hands balled into trembling fists.

“That was never my intent. I actually thought your teachings to be quite impressive.”

“Oh, yes, mock me. Your apologizing is shit, seriously don’t—“

They were interrupted. The loud crashing of the room door pulled them both from their match. A blonde entered, closed the door immediately, and looked through the opening; peering to see if she was being followed.

She looked familiar, Lavellan thought. Her suspicions were confirmed when the girl turned to face them. Her choppy hair looked disheveled, her lungs rising in a quick pace as she caught her breath. Closing her lids, her back fell to the door as she let out a maddening giggle.

On the tip of her tongue rested the girl’s name. She couldn’t remember what it was.

“Sera!”

Yes, that was it. _Wait—he knew her…_

Lavellan looked to Solas; his calm demeanor had changed as he rose from his seat, “What are you doing here? What have you done now?”

Sera gave him an irritated expression, “Hey! Why’s it always have to be me that did something, huh?”

The blonde crossed her arms, and shifted her stance; a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Since, Sera, it is _always_ you that finds trouble. Are you hurt?” His hands were resting on her shoulders. She pulled from him, covering the line of red across her cheek, “It’s just a scratch, ya? Nothin’ to get worked up about. I’m fine, see—“she jumped around in a circle, “fit as a…daisy. Now wait, that’s not right…”

Solas let out an exasperated sigh, “Damn it, Sera. You can’t go gallivanting out playing vigilante. You are going to get yourself killed.”

“So…what—just let those filthy shytes win? _Real_ people are being cheated. My friends—we right those wrongs straight. Of course, _you_ wouldn’t get it; playing safe in your lil’ room pointing a stick at pictures of stuffy, dead blokes.” Sera threw her tantrum as Solas pinched the bridge of his nose.

A wooden board creaked under the pressure of Lavellan’s foot as she shifted. The noise pulled Sera from Solas. She glanced between the two before she came to a conclusion, “That makes sense, I knew you dressed smart. I thought you’d be fun, but yuck, a professor? You’re probably as boring as my brother.” At the end of her statement, she pointed to Solas.

Lavellan was frankly shocked, “Wait—wait, _he’s_ your brother? I was sure he lived under a rock with his lack of social skills.”

Sera let out a boastful giggle, “I know, right?!”

Shaking his head, Solas looked utterly confused, “Sera, how do you know her” he looked at Lavellan suddenly with a dark scowl, gliding in her direction “Are you one of her ‘so-called’ friends?” His advancement had stunned her for a moment.

“No, you boorish ass, she’s not. She was at Antivan Express yesterday when we got chicken. She gave me a coin. Oh!—“, Sera pulled a gold piece from her pocket and tossed it to Lavellan, “Thanks for that.”

“I gave you plenty of gold for our food, why did you need a coin?”

“I didn’t. Girl at the counter is a bitch. She deserves a hard time” Sera snorted, “Ha! Hard time, get it? Maybe she wouldn’t be so stuck-up if she shagged someone.”

A thought occurred to Sera, “Was it just me, or did I walk in on you two ‘bout to start having at it? Ew. Ew, ew, ew.” Lavellan blushed before forcefully denying any sexual interactions between them, “What? NO! Your brother is an ass. I was letting him know that.”

Sera shifted herself in between Solas and Lavellan, “Hey—I know he can be a total, bland tart, but that names reserved for me, alright? What he do to you anyway?”

“He insulted me in front of the whole staff, on the account of me not being ‘elf’ enough to teach Elven History. And to top it off, he harasses me in my own—“

“Wait, wait, wait—hold up, you’re her?” Sera turned clockwise, facing her brother. Cocking back, she punched him forcefully on his arm, “I thought you were going to apologize? What happened to that?”

For being a small girl, she packed a powerful hit. Solas winced, and quickly grabbed the tender area of his arm. His voice shifted while retorting his defense, “Sera, was that necessary? I gave her my apology.”

“A shitty apology if I might add. Who harasses them in their own class, in front of her own students?”

“I was attempting to show you that I was interested in your teachings. You refused to accept any words from me either way; I figured it would catch your attention. It seems I was correct.”

“Oh, shove it”

Above the large classroom, a hum whispered through the speakers before Dean Victoria delivered her message through the P.A. system, “Hello, darlings. I require all staff to the Main Hall Auditorium immediately for an emergency meeting. Do not dally.”

No one had moved, just irate stares passing between Solas and Lavellan. Sera was the first to cut the tension, “So, I’ll stay here. You two can leave for your big important person meeting; sounds good.” With a swift motion, Sera sat herself behind her brother’s desk, her hands gracefully rifling through his drawers. Solas hesitated. That last thing he wanted was to leave his sister alone in his classroom, “Just a warning Sera, if _whoever_ put lizards in my drawer _happens_ to show up again—please inform them I will place ancient barbarian hex dolls  in their room at random within the next six months.”

Her fingers rapidly whipped themselves back into her lap, “Now that is just wrong.”

Solas looked back to Lavellan, both unhappily realizing they will be walking out together. Solas reached for the door, extending it out for her to pass. Refusing, she crossed her arms, waiting for him exit first. With the rolling of his eyes, he went while Lavellan held her own door.

“I truly am contrite to my behavior. Do these hostilities absolutely need to continue?” His eyes looked down to Lavellan, his height almost towered over her. Under her breath, she mocked him as if he was a child.

“Mature.” He replied with a blatant tone. In the peripheral of his vision, he saw a smug smile of satisfaction play at her lips. At that moment, he could not stop the sideways tug of his own. Their attention was caught by an outside voice interjecting into their trifling conversation, “Ah—Solas, you selfish man; holding this gorgeous woman all to your own?” Under his breath, Lavellan heard the elf curse.

She turned to the speaker; an elegant, tanned Tevinter man with notable style—she grumbled “I am being held hostage against my will, please send rescue.”

Dorian mashed himself in between Solas and Lavellan, causing Solas to nearly lose his balance, “Worry not, a dashing, young prince has come to your aid. Dorian Pavus at your service, the most handsome of the science department.”

“And most flashy. I’ve seen less color from a peacock.” A grunted, booming voice erupted high above Lavellan’s right side. It startled her to see the large Qunari above her. A beastly man as that should have noise to his step. Dorian looked away from the giant, his nose to the air, “One would look flashy when standing next to sweater-vest, and that appalling track suit of yours.”

“Easier for you to remove…” With the low rumble in his sultry voice, Lavellan couldn’t help but blush. Dorian, on the other hand, let out an defensive growl.

“So, Lavellan, right—heard a lot about you from Krem.” The name was familiar. Her classes were large, each course fitting at least one hundred students.

“He’s my Starter for our Iratuspila team. Best damn Starter I ever had. He’s a good kid—could lose some of that back talk though.”

A face flashed into her mind, “Oh! Yes, I remember him. The tall student with the ‘Chargers’ sweatshirt…he—he liked my class?” It was a compliment. Lavellan was not quite used to those.

“Yeah, he might look like another jock, but he’s smart. If he gives you any trouble, let me know.” The Qunari gave out his large hand, “Name is The Iron Bull, head coach for the Iratuspila team: The Dragon’s Chargers.”

“From what I understand Bull, the team has reserved themselves to calling it ‘The Bull’s Chargers’. It seems you have inspired them greatly.” Lavellan had forgotten Solas was there. The arrival of the other two was appreciated. She would not have been pleased with a long, awkward walk to the Hall Auditorium.

Bull chuckled, “Ha—yeah, don’t let…” he looked around cautiously before continuing, “…Viv hear you calling it that.”

At the sound of her name, Dorian was flustered, “Would it _kill_ the woman to be decent to any of her staff? What she did to Solas was a new low of treachery, even for her. It took him years of persuasion to add the Elven History course to the curriculum; knowing he wished to instruct it. No offense dear…” he motioned to Lavellan.

Dorian continued on. His speech rendered her mute, her steps slowing from the group’s cadence. Looking to Solas direction, she couldn’t stop herself from feeling sorry for the man. He showed no sign of sadness, his expression stern while Dorian spoke. Still, if she were in his position, she would hate the Dean. Not only that, but would hand involuntary grief to the person who stole her desired position.

Solas felt the gaze of her eyes, he too slowing his speed. Dorian and Bull were oblivious to the absence of the other half, their attention on each other as they conversed.

He did not speak first. Lavellan tried her best to find the words, “I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry; I can see why you were upset. To work on something for so many years to only have it taken from you. It’s harsh.” She knew the feeling all too well.

There was a doleful expression in her eyes, Solas noted to himself. With a smile of reassurance, he replied, “It is in the past. I am pleased we now have a course that teaches such a vital part of all history, not just ours. Again, I wanted to apologize for my behavior. You see now why I was enraged, but that should not permit such words.”

Shaking her head, she inquired, “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?” Solas chuckled, “I attempted. I mean this with all sincerity, but you are quite headstrong.” He was not wrong. Lavellan had asked what he believes the meeting was about, but truthfully, he had no idea. It was rare for Dean Victoria to put classes on hold for any reason. The two journeyed the remainder of the way in silence. Gradually, more instructors added to the mass. Lavellan caught the gaze of a familiar dwarf. Varric’s eyes glanced between Solas and herself, a smirk nudging at his lips. As they piled in, Lavellan recognized more faces from her first day. She was startled by a solid body colliding into hers, who then swiftly held her from falling. Crossed, she grunted, “Hey, watch it!”

The man was tall, topped with blonde curled hair, “Oh! I am—I…uh—I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean…” the spread of cheeks were pink with embarrassment. He stumbled over his apology. Lavellan remembered he sat next to Bull last week. In an instant, she felt bad from her defensive behavior, “You’re okay! I’m sorry. I am a bit aggressive” she extended her hand as best she could in the crowded area, “Leela Lavellan, and you are?”

He cleared his throat, “Cullen Rutherford, a Kinesiology professor. I also assist with Bull’s Chargers in sport’s therapy.” A look of confusion spread across her face. Before she could inquire, Cullen interjected, “Kinesiology is the study of the human body, specifically for sports medicine—training our form to reach its max potential.”

Lavellan let out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, yeah…I knew that.” Cullen gave her a small laugh, “It’s no trouble. It is not a widely know profession.” There was softness to his chestnut irises, she couldn’t help but blush. Any fool, even a blind one, would notice that he was immensely attractive. She instinctively coughed to interrupt the thoughts in her head. Solas still stood next to her, eyeing her curiously.

The room settled into their seats, waiting for Dean Victoria to speak. Lavellan paused before taking a spot next to Solas, “Um…I’ll just sit here, if that’s alright?” With an approving smirk, Solas nodded. He noted it was hard for him to refrain from stealing sideways glances. The strands of her hair were long, reaching past the mid of her back. Her skin was tan, but cheeks flushed with an opaque pink under her array of freckles; plump lips matching the color. She was remarkably stunning. Before long, he gazed along the curves of her body. She was smaller in stature, but unlike most Dalish, her form was lusciously filled. Perhaps from her time around more sinful treats her people refused to indulge in.

Quickly, he retracted his gaze as Lavellan looked in his direction. Instead, he focused on the stage—shifting, hoping she had not seen him stare. Dean Victoria spoke with, if Solas had to guess, two officers. Each woman had a large iris logo placed on the center back of their black wind breaker jackets—the letters _D.I.I._ written above it. Something tightened in his chest; _Divine Inquisition Investigations?_ What was the reason for their visit? An unsettled feeling brought him up on his guard. Dean Victoria advanced to the podium, “Skyhold Staff, I would require from you all your undivided attention. Our guest, investigators of the D.I.I., has requested to speak with each of you. Investigators Cassandra, and Leliana—Skyhold, darlings, do show them courtesy.”

A stately, raven haired woman replaced Vivienne on the microphone, “Good evening, I am Investigator Cassandra—and this is my partner, Investigator Leliana. Our department has been asked by the Divine Leader Justinia, to investigate a lead regarding the Tevinter murders…”

Through the auditorium, a humming of whispers broke out through the staff. Lavellan was intrigued to their reason being here, what did they know? Looking to Solas, she saw his body was tense. The expression on his face was stern, and concentrated.

“…we have reason to believe someone at Skyhold University is involved. We will require a personal interrogation for each staff, plus students who were profiled. No one may come or go until we have conducted our—“, Cassandra was interrupted. Her intense scowl revealed her disgust.

“This might just be my imagination, but don’t we—I don’t know…have rights that prevent these types of authority controlling situations?” Varric sat in center of the room, leaning back with an astound humor on his face.

Shaking her head, she retorted, “I don’t understand your meaning.”

Varric was now standing, “I would hope you know what happened at Kirkwall; Rioters rebelling against the over-powered officers of their local department of Templar Authorities—telling the people when they were allowed to breath. That didn’t work out so well for them. You expect us to sit idly while you take siege of our classrooms?”

Cassandra was stunned at his accusations, seething in her reply, “You compare the abused power of Kirkwall’s Templar Authorities, to an investigation of men being slaughtered for speculated reasons?”

Before Cassandra could continue, her counter took the stand, giving the raven haired woman a disapproving look, “What my partner is trying to say is—we have reason to believe that someone is behind the Tevinter murders, or at least involved. To help us further conclude our search in a timely matter, your corporation will be appreciated.”

The room was buzzing with gossip and conversation. Solas had not realized how tightly his grip was on his arm rest until he looked down to the whitening of his knuckles. He will need to inform Mythal immediately, perhaps he could sneak away when they were occupied. Cursing his worry, he decided the best action would be remaining calm. The quicker he leaves, the more suspicious he would seem. He will conclude his remaining class before setting out to the mansion. What had they found?

Next to him, he saw the raising of a hand. Leliana looked to her, approving her to continue, “Not to be nosey, but—what have you found that requires an investigation at Skyhold?”

It was as if she read his mind, but it was dangerous to ask such questions without adding suspicion to herself—even if she was not a herald to Mythal’s organization. The red-headed woman regarded her for a moment before responding, “That is classified.” Lavellan lowered her hand, a small glint of disappointment in her expression.

Dean Victoria gracefully swiped possession of the microphone, nodding for the departure of the investigators, “Your message will not go unnoted. Now, you have stolen enough of our time from our students. We must return to educate those who strive for it, if you don’t mind, my dears. Please, staff—return to your classrooms. Any further questions for the investigators can be asked in a later time. Run along now.”

Shuffling feet filled the room as the staff made for the exits; bumping shoulders as each made to pass the doors. Lavellan stood aside Solas, watching his body language. Something was bothering him, and she was curious to see what. Reaching his classroom door, they saw students filing in. Solas sighed at the sight of Sera holding the door, and greeting each person walking through, “Hope you brought your pillows and bears; Welcome to ‘A Bunch of Old Piss that Makes You Sleepy’ 101...”

An involuntary giggle escaped from Lavellan. Taking control of the door, he pulled Sera within earshot, “Thank you, Sera. Please, leave.”

Offended, she stuck out her tongue, “Ay! I was trying to help. _Pfft,_ last time I help you, you arse.” It was only faint, but Lavellan could hear his reply, “If only that were true…” With a parting nod to the pair of women, he walked to his desk; his eyes scanning for any hidden critters within the drawers. The scraping on the floor caused by chair legs had subsided as each student settled in.

“I am Professor Solas, this is Thedas History. If you are in the wrong class, please swiftly make your exit…” A noise of thick, crinkled paper pulled his attention, “Whoever that may be, food is strictly prohibited in my classroom. Please toss it or remove yourself.”

“What you have against food, huh? It’s just popcorn; take the stick from your bum.” Sera sat in the back corner of the seating, accompanied by Lavellan who rustled with the bag before emerging with a handful of kernels.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he addressed the pair, “Why…why do you insist on bothering me?” Lavellan gasped dramatically with a theatrical look of offense, “But Professor Solas, we are just here to audit the class. The subject is of interest to me.”

And there it was. His apologetic plan had turned a new course that he will now have to deal with. Sera grabbed another handful, filing her mouth, “Not me though” her words were muffled as she chewed, “I haven’t napped in a bit, heard this was the place to have at it.” He held his pause before realizing there is no way he will win.

“Fine, but please, refrain from speaking” each pair took another gulp of popcorn, “And no food!” Looking to each other, Sera placed the food in a bag before the two settled back into their chairs. Solas turned from them, grabbing the chalk from the shelf, “Now as I was saying…”His shoulders shrugged in annoyed tension from the encore of popcorn, “I said no food!”

The pair giggled before putting the bag away once more.

They will be the death of him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so much longer to write than I hoped. Holidays are extremely busy for me since I work at a very large shipping warehouse. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Oh, and Sera is Solas sister! I don't know why I loved that idea so much, maybe because a certain way Solas looked he almost resembled Sera. I love their banter. 
> 
> Fenedhis - Wolf Dick (pretty much an curse)
> 
> Iratuspila, in Latin means 'Angry Ball'. I figured they would have a version of their own sports. 
> 
> "What is my gift?" "Death." is a nod to Buffy. :)
> 
> I will try my best to update but with Christmas coming up, I get buried in packages.


	4. Like Brother Like Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas informs Mythal of the appearance of Cassandra, and Leliana. To top if off, Sera got herself in a tight spot. Lavellan assists Solas to help wedge Sera out.

The hard soles of his black leather, wing tip dress shoes clicked against the tanned, Tevinetian stone tile layered within the hall. The echoes of his step bounced from the crème walls and gray speckled columns. He caught a glimpse of himself within the grand mirror, hanging by its black metallic frame—similar to the entangling of vines. Endowed with a black suit, he looked himself over to ensure he was indeed presentable. After one quick inspection, his line of sight lingered on the bloody eyes of the Wolf he wore before continuing down.

The hall was dimly lit by the soft glow of small chandeliers and wall fixtures—both encased by the same metallic vine that wrapped around the mirror. His image reflected against the paneled doors of clear beveled glass leading to the garden, the flowers petals emulating the illumination of the night sky.

His eyes looked to the figure standing alongside the frame of the wooden, raven stained door. The boy bore an Owl mask.

“Good Evening, Xili…” he nodded his head in acknowledgement, “Please inform Mythal of my arrival.”

Nodding his head once more before disappearing behind the door, he took a moment before emerging—politely bidding him passage. Solas entered the office. To left of the entrance burned a flame within the stone of the Tevinetian inspired fireside. The irony irked him as he thought to the main origin of the mansions décor along with the organizations sole purpose. He internally corrected himself, remembering they were after the Venatori and not all of Tevinter—all though many passing days it did not seem that way. They were two separate entities, even if the Venatori spawned from within the Tevinter Imperium.

“I, also, dislike that fireplace” Solas looked to owner of the feminine, raspy voice, “It is too cold; no personality. Perhaps I should have a word with Briala at her ability to furnish a decent office.”

The flame light flickered against her ivory hair, the amber color of her irises burned brighter with the fire, “My dear friend, what pleasure do I owe for this urgent meeting. Is something troubling you? Please…sit.” Her hand motioned towards the chair directly in line with her desk; her other pushing her documents to the side. Solas pulled the chair out, the wood skidding against the marble floor. Settling in, he crossed his legs before leaning back on the support.

“Darling, take that horrid mask off, there is no need for it here.” Solas removed the Wolf, feeling better without its clutches against his profile.

“Skyhold had visitors today.” He placed the mask on top the desk.

“Oh?...” Mythal looked at him with curiosity. Long ago, she relinquished her true name on to him—Flemeth. Yet, he would always refer to her as Mythal, because that is who she was in his heart. Even after she unveiled herself as a human woman, he felt her more in tuned with the All-Mother herself than any elf could possibly imagine, or try for.

“Two investigators from the D.I.I. claiming a lead surrounding the Tevinter murders; a claim leading them to someone in Skyhold.”

Mythal placed her pen down, leaning back in her chair with a look of discern, “That is…problematic. It would be foolish to think they revealed what is in their possession in form of evidence?” Solas shook his head. She paused for a moment, deep in thought—her hand rested on the peak of her chin. After a few moments passing, she picked up the phone on her desk, dialing a series of numbers before placing it on speaker. Solas listened to the tone, the two waiting for the receiving end to answer. With a click, a woman was on the other end, “Ah, Mythal, you are aware of the time, yes?” Her voice cracked.

Mythal purposely put the Ambassador on speaker. The humorous smile playing on Solas’ lips were her reason. The man admired Briala for her movement in elf rights, but a mischievous part of him found pleasure in Mythal’s gift to bother the government hierarchy with a simple phone call. It made the untouchably powerful persona of a titled person just a fallacy. Every single being is a mortal person, and should always be reminded lest they start to believe otherwise. Once they do, the ‘lower’ people are the ones to suffer. An act Solas deemed unforgivable.

“Briala, of course I know the time. If it were not a matter of urgency, do you think I would call you otherwise?” The elf woman gave a sigh before clearing her throat from the effects of sleep.

“It _better_ be important.” Solas covered his mouth to refrain from laughing. Mythal smiled, “I just wanted to ask how your day was. It has been so long since we’ve last spoken.”

“ _Mythal._ ”

“Oh, that, and we have D.I.I. investigators snooping around Skyhold with claim of new evidence in the Tevinter murders. Would you know anything about that, dearie?” 

“Any information as to what the evidence might be?” the woman did not pause once for the news.

“None given so far, but we will continue to search to the best of our ability. Any information we retrieve, then you shall be expecting another call from me.”

“At a better hour, I assume?”

Mythal smiled, “We shall see.”

Briala groaned before continuing, “I will have agents look into this matter. We need to know what they have found.”

“Something we agree on.”

“Anything else?” The two could tell Briala would prefer fading off in slumber than continuing on with their discussion.

“No, we are done.” A click ended the call—Mythal nestled the receiver back into its holster before turning her notice back to her friend.

“Do not fret; we will uncover what they have found. Act as you usually do to avoid attracting attention to yourself.” Solas gave her a nod. Mythal felt heaviness in the air. Tilting her head, she eyed him—concerned with his unusual hush behavior, “How are you Solas? Is everything well? How is Sera?”

This was what he hoped to bypass. Mythal was his savior after the brutal death of his parents. She gave him advice as he raised Sera, and coddled him when he felt hopeless. For twenty-two years they had been close. She could read him like a children’s book. Yet, he could never reveal to her his guilty thoughts. All she had sacrificed to ensure the people were saved; he could not selfishly bring himself to admit that he was tired. So, he lied. He could lie to her, but not for long.

“Sera found herself in a group that call themselves, the ‘Friends of Red Jenny’. A cyber huddle of vigilantes around Thedas whose mission statement is to rob the riches and give to the poor—I feel it will lead her into trouble.” Sera had an impressively innate gift for computers, and the internal connections it holds.

“If only she knew how much she was like her older brother.” Solas adamantly disagreed with the woman, “How could you possibly compare what we do to her circle of internet thieves?”

Mythal chuckled at his response, “A secret organization of rebels working against the higher titles, in hopes of balancing the nature of power for the people. Does that not sound familiar to you?”

He wanted to disagree, but couldn’t find the words. Mythal shook her head, cupping his hand in hers as a sign of maternal support, “You love her, and worry for her safety. It wasn’t long ago you were teaching her to walk. Now, she is a grown woman, making her own choices; admirable ones, as well as risky. These are the worries of guardians for their children. As the same worries I hold for my children when they venture out to help the world.”

He hung his head, breathing a sigh deep from within his lungs. She was indeed his guardian, “How can you reign in the worry. At times, I feel like it could consume me.”

Mythal released his hand, a reserved look in her expression, “That is the unfortunate addition. You simply worry as long as they live or you part from this life. All you can do is hope.”

For another hour, Mythal and Solas exchanged words of conversation before he took his leave—replacing the mask once again upon his face.

When he arrived home, wearing his regular attire, he walked inside to see Sera enjoying a plate of Antivan chicken, “Are you some sort a killer who only works in the dead of night? See, I try to do a nice thing, and you go n’ ruin it. Your plates cold.” Solas dropped his belongings in the hallway closet before settling into the stool next to the kitchen counter, “Yes, but I only kill those who didn’t save me any sauce.”

Sera rose from her chair, pulling the refrigerator door open, and retrieving a small plastic container filled with thick, orange-tinted red sauce.

“Who do you think I am, some rightly evil bastard?” She placed the cup next to him. While removing his coat, he heard the clang of porcelain on glass followed by shrill beeps. His food rotated in the microwave while Sera returned to her own plate.

Solas looked down to the large, brown paper bag beside him, “I passed through Haven and purchased you a gift.”

“If it has anything to do with readin’ than you can stop tryin’ to convert me to your old stuffy person ways.” Ignoring her banter, he pulled out a thin rectangular box, placing it on the table.

Sera put down her fork, picking up the box hastily, “You got me a new keyboard?” Solas smiled, “I know your other one is falling apart, and I don’t even know how you can type with all those keys missing.” Sera beamed at the package with excitement. A moment later, she eyed him suspiciously, “Alright, spit it out, you need a favor?”

“Am I not allowed to nice gestures?” Sera lingered her gaze until she finally relaxed, “…Thanks. I _really_ like it.”

The microwave alarm chimed. Solas was ready to retrieve his food, but before he could, Sera was already on her feet placing a fork on the plate. They finished their meal while Sera hummed a tune using her utensil as a drumstick.

* * *

 

“What—no comment, Professor Solas?” Lavellan rested her hands on her hips while looking to Solas seated in the back corner of her room.

Solas chuckled with a smug grin, “None from me. I solely agree with the opinion regarding the theory behind the prophet’s tablets from the earlier Ancient Age, yet…”

“And there it is, ladies and gentlemen!” The crowd of students erupted in a flutter of laughter. Lavellan crossed her arms, leaning against her desk, returning his arrogant expression, “Please continue, Professor.”

“In recent discoveries made by Elvhen anthropologists, the symbols etched into the Prophet Leaders individual tablets, devoted to the Evanuris—were directions rather than cautionary tales. Look to the first symbol, many stories in the Ancient Age dating before -3405, began with the ‘running man’ character to announce to the reader that the story was indeed a fable. In recent findings, old recipes uncovered by anthropologist Merrill Sabrae, show that the ‘cross’ symbol is the indicator of ‘directions’ or ‘follow’. That is the same character beginning on each stone tablet.”

“I am not denying that. Yet, the tablets are estimated to be created between -3300 and -3550 given from the mineral samples examined by geologists. In between that time, the bunching of characters would indicate another meaning entirely. So the question remains was it ‘cross and running man’ or ‘cross’ then ‘running man’? It is sided more with the theory to ‘bunching of symbols’. Meaning, the tablets are meant to be read as ‘following the fable’, rather than ‘directions listed by this fable’. “

Solas held, before softly applauding, “Well done, Professor Lavellan. It seems you have me beat. Not many can succeed such a feat.”

“It won’t be the last time either, Professor Solas.” Lavellan gave him a wink that sent a twinge in the pit of his stomach. Since the first occurrence, Solas had attended her course each time during his free period between classes. She, in return, would sit during his class immediately after hers had ended. Sera would join her at times, with a bag of popcorn in her lap. He stopped complaining of her eating. He wanted her to continue to come to his class, since she started participating with questions on history. Although worded in her ‘colorful’ way, he was happy to answer them. They had done this dance for the past several weeks. On the days of their schedule classes, he felt himself readying quicker in the morning than he normally would.

“Alright, students, Mid-terms next week, on the 20th of Harvestmere—arrive at the posted time on your study guide. Tardiness will result in a fail, so perhaps preparing the night before would be best.”

The seats shuffled. Lavellan did not look to the back corner, knowing he would not be there. Instead, he would prepare for his next class. Placing her papers in her drawers, she locked it with a key before turning to exit. Sera stood in the middle of door frame with two bags of popcorn.

“Look, you got your own now. Stick your hand in my bag and I’ll poke it with a fork.” Sera handed her the pouch. Lavellan graciously accepted, taking notice to the change Sera had made, “Awh—no butter, you remembered. Where did you get the fork from in this scenario?”

“What?—I don’t know. I just had one, alright? And what nut job doesn’t like butter?” Sera threw a few kernels in the air, catching them in her mouth before chewing loudly. “You doing anythin’ for Satinalia?”

Leela shook her head, “No, I’m not big on the annums throughout the year.” With her response, Sera nearly dropped her precious food to the floor, “Who doesn’t fancy getting sloshed while pretending to be someone else? Me and Solas, yea, since we moved here—we would dress up and go down to the annual fool’s crowning. I won three years running, ‘til that stupid Cicero took it—ruining my streak.”

“Solas would actually dress up?” Seeing that man from anything beside his proper demeanor was intriguing to say the least, “You mean, actually dress up?”

“I know that stuffy elf doesn’t look like the type, but he would do the whole get up—mask, costume…it wasn’t ‘til a few years ago that he stopped doin’ it; a real fun killer. You should come with us. Maybe he won’t be so boring. Anyway, I’m gonna get my crown back this year from that stupid jester.”

The offer was tantalizing. The Dalish did not celebrate annums like the other parts of Thedas partook in. They held their own celebrations, but nothing as festive as Satinalia. As much as she wanted in the past to be part of the holiday, she was also engrossed in most of her studies. Taking a break from her education, even for a moment, felt like she was cheating herself. Now, she realizes she must have been a real stick in the mud.  

“Dressing up does sound like fun. Alright, I’ll go—that is, if Solas doesn’t mind me tagging along.”

“You really think he would?” What was that supposed to mean? Before she could ask—a blaring, inappropriate notification sounded from Sera’s phone. Pulling it from her pocket, she swiped before mouthing the words of a text message she just received.

“Well, it was buckets of fun. I’ll see you around.” Sera whirled in the opposite direction which they were walking.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—I thought we were going to annoy your brother?” Sera was already running off, shouting from a widening distance, “Got things to do, and people to blah-blah-blah. ‘Nother time, yea?” Before she could speak another word, Sera turned the corner disappearing from her line of sight. Well, looked like she will have to pester him without her.

In front of his door, she peered through the window. It looks like he had already started his lecture. Well, nothing is more annoying than an interrupting entrance. As she reached for the knob, a startling voice spoke her name, “You are Miss Lavellan, are you not?”

Jumping from the surprise, she whipped around to see the tall, raven haired woman and her red-head partner. The woman may be silent, but that only made her more unsettling. Leela collected herself before answering, “ _Professor_ Lavellan, if you don’t mind. What can I do for you Investigators Cassandra and Leliana?”

“Apologies Professor, we were hoping for a moment of your time for a list of routine questions.”

For a moment, Leela looked back to the classroom door. She hesitated in answering. Leliana filled the gap of silence, “We were informed that you were free from classes at this time. Is now not a decent time?” Leela interjected, “No, now is fine.” Cassandra motioned for her to follow, “We will do our best to only take a few moments of your time.”

Following behind Investigator Leliana, Cassandra trailed at the back. Leela turned to take one more glancing look to the windowed door before moving ahead…

Solas was well into his lecture. Lavellan had not yet escorted herself to his class yet. It was later than usual, but he stressed to himself that she wasn’t _obliged_ to attend his course. Perhaps she was caught up with other business. He wouldn’t deny her absence was disappointing, if not, a little upsetting. Turning to his board, he continued on.

There was still time, maybe she will show.

* * *

 

What a waste of her time. She understood the Investigator’s had a job to fulfill, but she could not answer any questions besides ‘Name, and present location on this day’. It would have been worth the hour if they exposed any knowledge they held about the Tevinter, possibly ‘Venatori’, murders. Since the days of the D.I.I. arrival, a wall of her room had been devoted to any articles and clippings she could find. She was starting to resemble a person in need of psychiatric attention, or a theatrical detective you find in the movies—attempting to solve the case.  It passed the time.

Rushing in her step, she found her feet leading her to his classroom. _You’re already extremely late, arriving now would be insulting._ Even with that conclusion, she couldn’t stop her legs from guiding her in that direction. There was still a little under an hour left. That should be plenty of time. Arriving to the door, she peered inside. Last thing she wanted to do was interrupt him while he was deep in a rant. Leela wished more instructors were dedicated, and as passionate about their subject as he was of history. It would have made for a more engaging class time throughout her studies.

She looked to her watch before scanning the room a second time. It was empty. The time showed to be correct, but there was no one inside. Strange, she thought. She wondered what could take him from his teachings. Slouched shoulders, she pulled on the strap of her book bag to adjust it from falling.

It was a distant walk from the building to the staff parking lot. As she pushed the doors open, the bitter harsh breeze of ice cold wind hit her in the face. No matter how long she is planned to reside here, the winter cold will never be something she can adapt too. Her whole life she lived by the wide sea. Growing up near the coast of the Free Marches, her summers were hot with humidity, and the winters mild compared to the mountains. She wrapped her checkered coat closer to her body, the strands of her long hair playing in the current of the air. Making the journey, she looked to the sky above. The stars were out. Solas’ last class ends when the moon has already comfortably settled itself in the night’s abyss. They had routinely begun to leave with one another, Solas always reminding her of the dangers of walking alone in the dark.

He was a funny man. He would converse with her, but reveal nothing of himself. She shouldn’t judge too quickly, as the same could be said of her.

A rustling of hedge leaves stole her from her thoughts. Her heart quickened its pace. Scanning the area, she looked around for the source of the sound. The courtyard was quiet, besides the singing of crickets. Many students had already left, or were in the final minutes of the remainder of classes. Her heart still in her stomach, she hurried her step. It was silent for a few more moments, then another noise. Instead it was the sliding of shoe against the gravels of stone. She had nearly reached the start of blacktop where her car was parked. Again, she paused, looking for a figure or even a silhouette of one. The black of her pupils dilated in their already expanded state as the sound of now animated steps grew louder.

A quick gasp of breath, and her feet pounded against the cement. The impact of souls chasing her sent trembling quakes through her body. The cold rush of air burned through her lungs as her breath shot constant clouds of vapor against the climate of winter. Her skin felt hot as her blood pulsed through her veins, filled with adrenaline from panic. Her instinct was to look back and find the location of her assailant. Still running, she darted her vision for any sign of life. She could see none, but that moment, the rush of steps behind her grew to halt and gradually fading away.

Her frame slammed into someone, causing them both to tumble on to the hard ground.

“Fenedhis! What in Thedas, do you think you’re—.” she heard his voice before she saw him, “Lavellan? What happened, are you injured?”

Her cheeks were rosy. The lids of her green eyes expanded wide with alarm. She tried to explain, but coughed with ragged breath, “I—someone…chasing me. I ran…”

Solas helped her from the ground, his eyes darting around them. She noticed he looked flustered, his attire disheveled. The tips of his fingers were blackened with grease, “Did they hurt you? Did you see who it may have been?” The visage of deep concern, and fury were painted on his expression.

Another rattling cough escaped her lungs before she shook her head. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he always did when he was frustrated; leaving two opaque imprints of black “I’ve told you it is not safe to walk alone at night. Why didn’t you have someone accompany you?”

The tone in his voice plastered a scowl on her face. She was not a child, nor should she spoken to like one, “You are usually my departing company, and instead I find you fiddling with your hunk of junk. Excuse me for exiting to my car without your permission.”

A response like hers would have him debating with her the importance of safety. Instead she saw the return of his unkempt demeanor. With a flare of his nostrils, he apologized, “You’re right. You don’t need my permission. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to care for.”

He veered his back to her, returning under the hood of his car. This was unlike him. He was the poster child for calm, and collected.

“Is everything…all right?”

A harsh slam of the hood sent her slightly aback. The skin between his brows knitted into an upsetting scowl, “No. My sister, somehow, found herself in jail. I received the call a half-hour ago. I would be there already, but instead my motor is failing to start.”

The side of his shoe slammed hard against the side of his fender. Sera was in jail? It was only a couple hours since the last time she had seen her, what in the Abyss could she have done to land her in jail in such a short time?

“Come on.” Lavellan rustled through her bag, the clink of jingling keys moving against the fabric. Solas looked at her, unsure of her intent.

“Come on, were taking my car. Just give me directions to the Templar station; I don’t know where it is.”

Realizing she intended to drive him, he seemed uneasy—as if he wished to deny, but knowing there was no other way he would possibly make it down there, “I…thank you.”

“Hurry up, it’s freezing. And I don’t want to be outside anymore.” In a quick movement, her gloved fingers reached up to his face. Before he could react, she wiped away the grease between his eyes, “Maybe refrain from pinching until you wash your hands.”

* * *

 

Solas rushed to the front desk of the Templar station, “I am here for Sera. My name is Solas, I was contacted an hour ago.”

The Templar looked up from his computer before typing, “Surname?” Solas groaned, “None; ‘Of Haven’.” The unveiling to the lack of last name came to her as a grim surprise. Lavellan found it disturbing, that in certain Thedas regions, the loss of parentage resulted in the stripping of your house name. Solas and Sera were orphans.

The Templar typed. After sometime, he rolled over in his chair to the parallel desk housing the printer. After the machine spit out three sheets, the man gathered them together before stapling, “You have three options: Pay the bail in gold or check, a bond, or we can hold property of equal value until the date of court. If the person put on bail does not show up to court, then your property is forfeit to the Templar Authorities, as well as a bounty placed on their head…”

“If you don’t mind us asking, what did she do to end up here?” Solas saw Lavellan move to his side. “Well, ma’am, she was found hoarding a large amount of stolen gold from a Marquis. He has not said whether he will or will not press charges against her.” Solas let out a groan between gritted teeth. In his state of disarray, he stuttered, attempting to look for words. He failed, so Lavellan substituted the best she could in asking the questions, “How much for bail?”

“Well the bail is eight-hundred gold, and—“

“Eight-hundred gold?!” Solas blurted out, “How much had she stolen from the Marquis?” The Templar hit the keys, “It looks like…fifty-three gold.”

“Eight-hundred gold for the compensation of fifty-three?” The number was extremely high, even for the crime in mentioned. Sera was an elf, and in these situations, they always got hit harder. Lavellan saw the Templar become heated, “Eight-hundred gold for the crime committed. Now, if you are not here to pay bail, I suggest you come back until you have.”

 With a thud, Solas place his leather satchel on the counter. Pulling out a check book, he grabbed a pen from the counter to write with. When finished, he ripped the paper along the perforated line, “A check for eight-hundred gold.”

The Templar removed it from Solas’ grasp. Flipping through the packet, he pointed to lines within the print, “Sign here, here, and here.” Without reading, he did so. The Templar filed the document before calling for another officer, “Angus, I need the possessions of inmate number 4583SB. Tell the guard she made bail.” The other man nodded before leaving. Solas and Lavellan sat in the waiting area. They heard Sera before she emerged, “…could go nicer on the cuffs. My wrist will be red for days and no good story to go along with it.”

He caught the sight of Solas, bowing her head slightly from his gaze, “I know you want to say it, ‘I told you so’. So, get it over with.”

Solas rose from the seat, the disappointment apparent in his eyes, “Outside. Now.” With a click of his heel, and tension in his shoulders, he slammed through the door leading outside. Lavellan remained quiet as she followed him, not wanting to interfere with family matters. Sera gave a theatrical groan before following the two.

Solas’ muscles were rigid with immolating fury. The three traveled in quiet to Lavellan’s car. As they reached the vehicle, Solas opened the back door, “Get in.”

Sera raised her hands in frustration, “Yea, Sera, why did you steal from that bloated twat? Oh, I don’t know, because that bastard had been scamming people for _years_ ” The tone from her throat shifted into mocking, “Here mate, give me your gold that you use to feed your chubby babies, and I’ll put it in the business I got which will give you more gold that will send your growing little, chubby babies to college. Instead, I am going to keep it all while you and your no longer chubby babies starve.”

The skin around his knuckles turned white under his grasp of the car door’s window frame. His eyes were sealed shut, his nostrils flared with each exhale of deep breath.

“Oh, for fuck sakes, say something!” Sera’s eyes were starting to glisten.

“What do you wish me to say Sera? That you are a foolish girl? A little girl refusing to live in the real world—“ the intensity of his shout was terrorizing, “Do you know what a man like a Marquis can do to you? They look lowly to elves, no matter what they accomplish in their lives. People will _ruin_ you if given the chance; they will ruin you, your friends, the people you love, just to spite you. You are a child playing hero in a desert filled with serpents. You want me to say something? The here it is. You are nothing, but a foolish child with no regard for her own safety or the toll your actions take on others. Now get in the _fucking_ car!”

His rant ended with him in a fit of heavy breaths. Immediately, he regretted his words. The pooling of tears flushed the cheeks and nose of her betrayed anger. She slid to the back seat, tearing the door from his grip—slamming it closed. Lavellan was at loss of words, she made her way to the driver side, glancing to Solas with a questionable look before ducking into the car.

The palms of his clean hands rubbed the skin of his face, then his bare head. Sighing, he too retreated to the car.

The ride was silent besides the few words of direction to the apartment. Sniffles coming from the back seat were followed by the wiping of her cheek. She refused to look in his direction. As they arrived to the gate, before Lavellan could even completely stop, Sera jumped out from the car. Solas protested for her to wait, but she ignored his direction and left for the apartment.

Solas cupped his hands to his face and moaned.

“You should apologize to her.” Solas refused to look to Leela, “With her actions, she found herself in jail. What she did was wrong.”

“I’m not saying what she did wasn’t wrong, I am saying two wrongs won’t make the situation better.” Considering her words, he took a deep inhale of air, “Perhaps you’re right. I just—“ Solas was unable to finish his sentence. The two sat in silence for a moment, “I raised her. Our parents were…passed. I had just turned seventeen. Sera was not even old enough to speak. There was a risk we would be separated if I sought refuge with the orphanage. Instead, I raised her on my own. I gave her all I could. Just a child raising another—“

“Hey…” Leela reached out for his hand, lacing it with her own fingers, “Bumps are inevitable down the line with family. She looks up to you, and secretly, she just wishes for your approval. Your disappointment in her—it hurt her more than she could express. She is still family, and family fights. Don’t let it remain broken. Apologize.”

Solas was leaning on the center console, his eyes looking down to their entwined hands. Raising his head, he made note of how close she was sitting beside him. Her hot breath prickled against his skin. Without much thought, his gaze looked to the plump of her blush lips. They were parted. His thoughts drifted to the mental image of how she must taste. It had been so long since he craved the touch of another. Leela could not see where his vision lay, being that her own were looking to the cut of his tensing jaw. A punch of heated pressure pushed against her lower abdomen. Her muscles were so still, she took notice to the flushing of her elevated heart beat. Their fingers remained laced together.

“I want to thank you, Leela.” His whispers nearly brushed against her lips. Her mind was fuzzy, “For?” What was this man doing to her? “For your help—there are very few people I can trust. It means a great deal to me.” He was genuine in his gratitude.

The lengths of her legs were going numb. Nervous, she attempted to break the tension with a light joke, “Now you have to think of ways to repay me.” Solas took her jest as a challenge, giving her a low rumble of a mouthed chuckle, “Deal.”

He pulled back from her, a small grin on his lips. Wait, what just happened? Leela coughed, attempting the correct her stunned disposition. Hoping he didn’t take notice to her flustered behavior, she cleared her throat for distraction, “So—ah, you are going to need a ride? I mean, tomorrow—a ride tomorrow; since your car is…where you need…a ride to.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble?” Leela over compensated on her reply in hopes of covering the stumbling of her last sentence, “No! No, nooo, of course not. I would be happy to.”

His expression twisted to concern, “I will be accompanying you to your car from now on, as well. There will need to be a discussion with Dean Victoria about parking lot security.” Through the events of the night, she had completely forgotten about her stalker. Revisiting the anxious thought, she felt herself shudder, “Yes, that…would be for the best if we avoided a repeat of last night’s chase.”

Solas grabbed his bag, “I shall see you in the morning then?”

“Bright and early.”

“Goodnight, Professor Lavellan.” She couldn’t stop herself, “You can call me Leela, if you’d prefer.” Solas smiled, “Leela then. Goodnight, Leela.”

He closed her door behind him. After his exit, she allowed herself a deep breath to calm her nerves.

_Oh Creators, what did I get myself into?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mansion decor is similar to Venetian furnishing. Get it--Tevinetian and Venetian. Dorian is Italian. I probably am not the first to think of that. That's probably where they got it from. Now I don't feel so smart. 
> 
> Awh, Flemeth is motherly...for now. :)
> 
> From the Dragon Age Wiki, I used the Calendar when referring to the annums (celebrated holidays) and Satinalia (A day were people dress in costumes and crown a fool as king for the day). Which occurs on the 1st day of Firstfall (equivalent to November) 
> 
> If you got the Skyrim reference, then I love you. 
> 
> And we had some happy moments with Solas and Sera, and some 'not so good, actually quite terrible' moments. Establishing this dysfunctional relationship between the siblings had be torn. Yet it needed to be added. Thank you guys for reading! 
> 
> Oh, I also started a tumblr, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bambimari  
> Show it love or don't :D


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